


Duty-Bound

by RoseAlenko



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action & Romance, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being with her had broken more than just the regs, but Kaidan knew Shepard was worth the heartbreak. </p><p>Right up until she stormed back into his life with a Cerberus uniform and a bad attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shore Leave

"Really, Commander, I don't think we should go against the regs again. Besides—"

"Regs? That didn't seem to bother you so much en route to Ilos, lieutenant." Kaidan's clumsy attempts to reject her advances were adorable, but watching him blush scarlet at the memory of their intimacy was even better.

They were only a few hours away from the end of shore leave, and Shepard had indulged in more than her fair share of Serrice Ice Brandy at dinner. The lights of the Citadel glowed around them in an exhilarating haze, the bustle of life still thriving in the galaxy's biggest city. She dragged a protesting Kaidan away from the sushi restaurant, where they'd just shared a raucous meal with the rest of the squad, in the direction of Anderson's apartment.

Shepard was used to lean living and ordinarily kept to a simple one-room apartment provided by the Alliance during shore leave. But after Ashley's death, immediately followed by the well-publicized victory over Sovereign, Anderson convinced her to take a _real_ break in the retreat of his elegant and amenity-filled home while he was out on Alliance business. Shepard herself, along with the rest of the crew, would be leaving on assignment the following morning at 0600; but she'd be damned if she didn't enjoy herself just for _one_ more night. Hadn't she earned that much?

For his part, Kaidan was resisting with all the strength of a volus. His feigned reluctance only excited Shepard more. He had abandoned his ordinary dress for more casual wear. His snug white t-shirt accentuated his powerful arms and his dog tags bounced against his sculpted chest as he broke into jog to keep up with Shepard as she pulled more insistently on his wrist. She felt a familiar tingle of energy where her hand touched his skin, as his biotics flared in a mix of what she knew to be equal parts apprehension and anticipation.

Shepard had hastily claimed that she'd had too much to drink at dinner and had stolen away from the rest of her squadmates before they'd gotten a chance to follow. She dragged Kaidan along "for help." It wasn't just a lame excuse—it was no excuse at all. It made no sense. But she didn't care. If the others didn't know about the secret kisses and furtive glances she'd been sharing with Kaidan for the last few weeks, then they weren't up to the task of serving on her ship. They both knew it wasn't really a secret anymore, but the thrill of sneaking around was one of the few joys she allowed herself in the brief calm they'd been enjoying ever since the battle with Sovereign had ended.

They rounded a corner, entering an alleyway that was more secluded than the bustling path through the ward that they had been hurrying along moments before. Taking advantage of the relative privacy, Shepard pushed him roughly against the wall of the shop they'd stopped near. The entrance to Anderson's apartment building was only yards away, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to get Kaidan flustered out in the open, with the threat of the others seeing them at any moment. She knew that the small fight Kaidan had been putting up was just a formality, just Kaidan being his usual gentlemanly self. He was shy about the prospect of the rest of the crew knowing their business, nervous at the thought of Anderson or some other Alliance authority finding out about their frequent . . . fraternization. Regardless, the darkness in his caramel-colored eyes reflected her own desire.

Standing on the tips of her toes to try and match his height, Shepard wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his ear, "I want you so bad right now, Alenko." She smirked with satisfaction as he shivered in response to her words and the heat of her breath on his neck. She trailed light kisses from the spot under his ear up to his jawline, prickly with stubble. Just how she liked it. Right as Shepard moved to bite that tortuously soft and full lower lip of his, Kaidan grabbed her gently by the shoulders and pushed her back, holding her at arm's length.

She strained against him, whining in protest, but he chuckled as he held her in place. "Shepard…" he began, his soft voice wrapping her in warmth even as he was trying to talk some sense into her. "You're drunk. What happened before Ilos was . . ."

"Fucking spectacular?" she suggested, flashing him a devilish grin.

"Yes," he agreed with a hesitant smile. "And the . . . tension between us since then has been difficult for me to manage. But I don't think we should do this. At least not here, not now. You're a war hero. People are constantly watching you, writing about you, talking about you. Your career is just getting started. You're a great soldier. You love your work and I love mine. Do you really want to risk sullying all of that for this?"

"It's not for 'this,'" she replied, taking advantage of his distraction to step forward and place her hand firmly between his legs, her breath catching at the feeling of his hardness, at the immediacy of his physical response as he leaned into her touch in spite of himself, a strangled groan escaping his throat. "It's for you," she added, her voice quiet, hesitant. She looked up and met his eyes, desperately hoping that her own weren't betraying the sudden surge of emotion she felt as she searched his face for a hint of the same.

She lifted her other hand and placed it against the side of his face. Trying to focus her brandy-muddled thoughts into a coherent expression of her feelings. He covered her hand on his cheek with his own and smiled tenderly down at her. She could feel tears prickling, threatening to fall, and she looked away quickly. "Hey," he said, concerned, pulling her closer. "What's wrong?"

"It isn't just about a secret romp in the dark corners of the Normandy for me, Kaidan. If I'm throwing away my reputation it's not for some distraction or release." She knew that she was treading on dangerous ground. Kaidan was right, of course. She was under more scrutiny than ever, and how unfair was that? She had been through the most trying ordeal of her life, and instead of being rewarded with happiness and the freedom to enjoy the peace she'd help to bring about, she felt more duty-bound and obligated to serve than ever before. She was a role model now. A household name. It took some getting used to.

In addition to the pressure and anxiety, she was constantly guilt-ridden. She woke up most nights screaming and sweaty, panting and gasping, trying to shake off the nightmares. Night after night, she imagined new and different ways that Ashley had died on Virmire after Shepard had chosen Kaidan, and left Ashley behind. Shepard had put personal feelings first. One of her squad, one of her _friends_ had paid the ultimate price for her own silly romantic delusion that she and Kaidan could somehow be together. When it had come down to it, Shepard had been unable to face a future without Kaidan, a future in which she'd have to live with the guilt of making the call that ended his life. But a dark, malicious voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she had chosen Kaidan selfishly. Chosen him because of her feelings for him, feelings that had steadily grown over the course of months working by his side.

She had grown used to their easy conversations between missions, to the sight of him working hard on the ship, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow before turning to flash her his winning smile. She had come to enjoy fighting alongside him, her need to keep him safe somehow adding extra adrenaline and focus in a tight spot. She loved watching him on the battlefield, his precise shot, the sheer power of his biotics. She would spring eagerly out of bed in the mornings to share a cup of coffee with him on the observation deck, looking out at the endless stars and feeling something close to contentment in his company. The thought of losing him made her almost breathless with dread. And on Virmire, right or wrong, she'd made the choice that prevented just that.

Back on the ship, the reality of Ashley's death weighed heavily on her shoulders. It was nearly unbearable. Her stolen moments with Kaidan were the only the ones keeping her sane. On the night that they'd made love, he told her that she made him feel human. Kaidan's affection for her was the only thing that made _her_ feel human now; after leaving Ashley to die, Shepard felt nothing short of monstrous. She needed this closeness with him. Needed something to remind her what it had all been for. Every breath against her cheek, every reassuring beat of his heart that she felt against her own chest in the tightness of their embrace reminded her that whatever she'd lost, whatever she'd _sacrificed_ , he was still there.

Kaidan interrupted Shepard suddenly from her reverie. Squeezing her somehow even closer, he whispered, "It's the same for me, you know? I care about you, too, Shepard. Probably more than you realize. In fact, I—" But she cut him off, wrenching herself from his embrace, quickly wiping tears from her cheeks and looking him square in the eye. She had a hunch that she knew what he was about to say, but she couldn't allow it. She couldn't, because she probably felt the same way, if she was honest with herself, and she simply couldn't get in that deep with Kaidan—with _anyone_ for that matter. People who got too close to her got hurt. That's just the way it was.

"Don't go getting all sappy on me, Alenko," she teased, hoping it sounded lighter and more genuine than she felt. She forced a sly smile, stepping slowly back toward Kaidan and grabbing his dog tags, dragging his face closer to hers. "Are we going inside or not?" she asked, jerking her head in the direction of the apartment entrance. He blushed again, but nodded his assent. "Good," Shepard said matter-of-factly, rising on her toes enough to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Lead the way, lieutenant. I hate to see you go, but damn do I love to watch you leave."

Kaidan shook his head at her and laughed. "Is that an order, Commander?" he asked.

"You bet your ass it is," Shepard replied smoothly.

"Too bad," Kaidan said, without missing a beat. To her utter surprise, he leaned forward and scooped her up easily, carrying her toward the apartment like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold.

"Hey!" she screeched in protest. Shepard may have been small, but she was no damsel to be swept off her feet. She kicked fiercely, but Kaidan's strong arms held her effortlessly. He fished the keycard to Anderson's apartment out of the back pocket of her jeans with the hand that supported her bottom, and passed it to his other hand, his arm wrapped around her upper body tightly. He awkwardly managed to unlock the apartment, stepping through the doorway with Shepard still in his grasp despite her tantrum.

He looked down at her then, an amused smile on his face as he captured her protesting lips with his own. She decided she might just enjoy the closeness, leaning up and deepening the kiss. The heat of his skin on hers, the slight, static feel of their biotics interacting, the subtle scent of his cologne in her nostrils mingled with the taste of his favorite Canadian whiskey on his tongue. She almost gave in to the moment, practically melting in Kaidan's affectionate hold. Still, true to her rank, Shepard liked to be in charge. She pulled away slightly from his kiss. "Let. Me. Go," she demanded through clenched teeth.

"Never," he replied evenly, and she giggled in spite of herself as he carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

* * *

The next morning, Kaidan awoke to the sound of the alarm he'd set on his omni tool so that he and Shepard would have time to get back to the Normandy before arousing suspicion. He looked over at her sleeping form, smirking at the thought of the hangover she'd probably have today.

The night before had been one for the books. He sighed at the memory of her lips frantically crashing into his, the sweet taste of her when he'd kissed her between her thighs, the feeling of being inside her again, somehow even better than he'd remembered from that night before Ilos, and the sound of his name on her lips as she came undone, straddling him, one of his hands knotted in her wild, beautiful hair, the other poised over that sweet spot that drove her wild. They'd finished together, at the same time, their breaths and even heartbeats seemingly in sync. It was the first time he'd ever experienced something like that with a woman.

There was something remarkable yet indescribable about Shepard. He still couldn't believe his luck. How could the fierce, passionate, unbelievably sexy and capable Commander Shepard be interested in _him_? His troubled past, his frequent headaches and sometimes unstable biotics . . . none of it seemed to matter to her. Regs be damned, he was dangerously invested in this. He mentally kicked himself when he remembered that caught up in the booze and frenzy of the previous night, he's almost told her the depth of his feelings. But if he couldn't even admit it to himself, he sure as hell wasn't ready to confess it to her.

It didn't matter, though. He had chosen to remain on the Normandy, to continue to serve under her. They were leaving that morning for a relatively routine investigation of geth activity—no big deal. There would be plenty of time for the two of them to work out just what they had between them. One day soon there would be no new assignments looming on the horizon. Then they would have time to talk things out.

Until then, he decided, he would just enjoy the ride.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Comments are always welcome!  
> 


	2. Mortals

The familiar hum of the Normandy's engine was the only sound in the main battery as Shepard examined and cleaned her equipment. Garrus' presence in the room was silent and comforting. He was focused on his own "calibrations," always busy, but always there to lend an ear or some honest advice when she needed input on a mission. She was relieved that he had chosen to remain a part of her crew following the battle for the Citadel. She had been worried that he may go back to C-Sec, might seek another leadership position more befitting his skills and background. But, ever the good friend and partner, he had stayed. And she couldn't think of any sniper she'd rather have at her 6.

"How's it going over there, Garrus?" she asked, looking up from the shotgun she'd been polishing to find him bent over his station, typing rapidly on a keyboard, his severe-looking turian hands moving in a blur of speed.

"I'm working on calibrating the Normandy's forward guns to auto-sense incoming threats from a greater range, and to better discern between threats and friendlies." Garrus' voice, unique in its resonance, filled the room as he rambled on excitedly about ship upgrades.

Shepard smiled to herself as she stood and stretched, walking over to take a look at Garrus' work. She patted him affectionately on the back before asking, mischievously, "You up for another drinking contest in the mess? Joker wants another shot at drinking us under the table."

Garrus laughed loudly at that, a familiar and mirthful sound. "Shepard," he began after catching his breath. "The last time you tried this, Alenko had to carry you back to your bunk after two measly shots of Ryncol. Admit defeat and defer to the only man on this heap who can really hold his liquor."

"Have you even _met_ Wrex?" she fired back with a grin. "Besides, I'm not a _man_. And you've got it wrong; _I_ had to carry _Kaidan_ out." she added.

"Oh, right. How could anyone forget? You're a vision of feminine grace, Shepard," Garrus replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She punched him playfully on the arm, shaking her head. "Have it your way, Vakarian. I'm going to have a drink with or without you. I'll bet Joker's game."

As if he'd been listening in on their conversation, Joker chimed in over the intercom. "Shepard, Kaidan's looking for you. Think he went to the mess."

"Roger that, Joker. If you're looking to get embarrassed at cards or drinking again, find me there."

"Me? Embarrassed? Never," Joker returned. Shepard headed out of the battery and toward the communal mess hall, chuckling at the pilot's antics. She saw Kaidan seated with his back to her, eating as hearty a dinner as Alliance rations could offer.

Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. They'd bunked together every night since shore leave on the Citadel had ended. Their newfound closeness made her feel safer and more normal than she'd felt in years, maybe the closest thing a couple of Alliance heroes could have to domestic bliss. They were still trying to be discreet, but she doubted that her close circle of squadmates were fooled, especially with her and Kaidan walking around in a lovesick daze, grinning like idiots. He had left her side in the wee hours of that morning, and already she was aching for his touch. Even so, she tried to remain focused on the task at hand; but that proved more difficult than usual.

The purpose of their current mission was to investigate reports of geth activity in a system outside geth space. But days of searching had yielded no results, and Shepard was beginning to feel like she had been sent on a wild goose chase. These sorts of low-stakes, uneventful missions made her restless, which led to destructive behavior like trying to start drinking competitions among her crew, or trying to seduce a certain sexy staff lieutenant in the middle of the afternoon . . .

She was advancing to Kaidan's table in the mess, with every intention of luring him into the privacy of her bunk, when Joker's voice came over the intercom again. This time there was an anxious edge to his tone that chilled her to the bone. "Brace for evasive maneuvers!" he shouted, as the ship lurched unexpectedly, sending Shepard roughly to the floor.

She got up slowly, rubbing a knee that throbbed from the violent fall, looking worriedly over at Kaidan who was now covered in the remnants of the meal he'd been eating moments before. Just as she found her footing, there was a deafening boom as the ship was hit—by what, she didn't know. The Normandy careened off course again, this time sending Shepard flying into the table. It hit her in the gut and she exhaled sharply in pain, struggling to steady herself and stand as Joker came over the com again. "Kinetic barriers down. Multiple hull breaches. Weapons offline! Get that fire out!"

 _Hull breaches?_ _Fires?_ Shepard peered at Kaidan in disbelief. He looked back at her, mirroring her confusion. This couldn't be the geth. She knew Joker well enough to know that he wouldn't be flying the Normandy recklessly, would have had their cloaking technology actively engaged. Who would have been able to attack them so quickly, taken them by surprise so effectively? "Get suited up," Shepard said, running for her bunk and motioning to Kaidan to do the same.

Shepard felt a little better with a breather helmet on, and when Kaidan returned from grabbing his gear from his bunk, she was glad to see that he had donned his own helmet. She moved to the controls of the distress beacon, preparing it for launch with shaking hands. "The distress beacon is ready for launch," she said to him, hoping her voice sounded stronger and calmer than she felt. As the commander, she had faced some tough situations and had often projected the strength and clarity of mind that her group needed when things were darkest, but she had never expected _this_. The Normandy was her home, and for more than a year it had felt like an impregnable fortress against every enemy the galaxy had to offer. Her heart broke as she looked at the ship in chaos, countless alarms sounding as the crew ran this way and that in a panic, and everything tinted a sinister red-orange as numerous fires sprung up all over the crew deck.

"Will the Alliance get here in time?" Kaidan asked her, his voice wavering with uncertainty. She knew that they wouldn't, couldn't possibly. Multiple hull breeches and fires with no weapons to fight back meant the Normandy was likely a doomed vessel, but there was no point in worrying Kaidan just then.

"The Alliance won't abandon us. We just need to hold on. Get everyone to the escape shuttles," she replied confidently, fumbling for a fire extinguisher to distract herself from the fear that was threatening to dull her senses.

"Joker's still in the cockpit. He won't evacuate," Kaidain informed her. She balked at that. How could Joker be so foolish as to think that he could save the ship now? In the cockpit, Joker surely had a firsthand look at the devastating damage the Normandy had taken. He was a great helmsman—the best. But damnit if he wasn't the most stubborn member of her crew. "I'm not leaving, either," Kaidan finished. Scratch that, Joker was the _second_ most stubborn member of her crew.

She was profoundly touched by Kaidan's loyalty and concern for her safety, but she would _not_ lose him like this. "I need you to get everyone to the evac shuttles," she repeated sternly. "I'll take care of Joker."

"Shepard . . ." he protested. His helmet obscured his features, but she could imagine the pained expression on his sweet face. The weight of the words he no doubt wanted to say hung in the smoky air between them.

"Kaidan, go. Now," she ordered. It was difficult. She wanted to embrace him, to tell him how she felt, to follow him onto that evac shuttle and see him to safety. She wanted to be sure that he lived to see another day, and that she made it out, too, to look him right in those dreamy amber eyes of his when he finally got the nerve to tell him how much she loved him. Instead, she glared daggers in his direction, urging him to save the others, to save himself.

"Aye, aye," he assented, after a moment's hesitation. As she watched him go, she felt a peculiar mixture of relief and sadness. She heard his commanding, reassuring voice as he directed some panicked marines to enter the nearby shuttle. She saw the familiar silhouette of his tall, muscular frame outlined in the smoke as he ran toward the shuttle himself. She knew he would be safe, but she had an inexplicable, unshakable feeling that it would be the last time she ever saw him.

* * *

Kaidan had just removed his helmet when the young woman sitting next to him jumped in alarm. Another, painfully loud blast shook the shuttle. He looked back in horror at the source of the sound—a new explosion on the Normandy. The ship was no more than a wreck now, after the fatal hit from the enormous and menacing, yet still unidentified enemy vessel. He felt like his heart was in a cincher at the sight of the devastation. There was no way that she or Joker had survived such a scene of destruction. Desperate to stay strong for the other crew members on board, Kaidan swallowed hard and blinked away the tears in his eyes. He'd seen that most of Shepard's chosen squad had gotten out on other escape pods, but he looked over to find Liara at the end of the bench opposite his. Their eyes met, and for one tense moment they both seemed to register that Shepard might be gone.

Reeling at the thought, he turned to the window again, his eyes desperately searching for a newly deployed evac shuttle. At that moment, a blinding flash forced him to shut his eyes as the enemy ship fired another shot using its powerful laser-like weaponry. The last remnants of the Normandy shattered violently, sending wreckage in every direction. Kaidan saw red. The thin veil of control that he'd been grasping throughout the whole fiasco evaporated and he found himself screaming in protest, at the unfairness of it all. "No!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking with emotion as he turned away from the window and laid his head in his hands. He was doubled over in pain, doing nothing to quiet the sobs that were rocking his frame, his biotics flaring dangerously. The girl next to him scooted way frantically, but he barely noticed.

"Look!" he heard Liara cry, suddenly. Hardly daring to hope, he looked up and out of the window behind her to see one, last evac shuttle floating away from the scattered remains of the Normandy. He exhaled shakily, sighing in relief. When he saw Shepard again, he decided, he was going to make her promise never to scare him like that again.

"They made it," he said, regaining his composure. "It would take more than a ship blowing up to take out the Commander," he joked, trying to ease the tension in the cramped cabin of the shuttle. A few of the others chuckled half-heartedly, but everyone was still rattled. Kaidan sat back in his seat and gazed out at Shepard's shuttle, hoping that she was alright in there. _Leave it to Shepard to nearly kill herself saving our asses_ , he thought, shaking his head.

He was still amazed that they had all managed to escape, considering the brutality of the attack. He looked out of the window again just in time to see the gargantuan enemy ship making a light speed departure, apparently satisfied that it had taken out its prey after the Normandy was obliterated. _Who could have done this_? he wondered, an eerie chill overtaking him. He had never seen such a daunting, powerful ship before.

Looking about the shuttle, he could see his fear and uncertainty mirrored in the faces of his comrades. But more than anything, he was just grateful that so many, especially Shepard, had gotten out alive. Those few seconds he thought that he'd lost her were the most terrifying moments of his life. It was a strange way to realize how much she truly meant to him, but he was finally coming to terms with the fact that despite how hard he tried to keep a level head about their relationship, he was in deep.

In his younger years Kaidan had been with a few different women, but he'd never really gotten serious with anyone. The traumatic end to his adolescent attachment to Rhana had left its scars, and he worried that he was only capable of causing others pain. He was a romantic at heart, and had never been a "love 'em and leave 'em" type of guy; but his past relationships had all sort of petered out as soon as he'd begun to feel comfortable. He was just too afraid that his baggage would eventually scare another girl away, so he'd ended things before they got the chance.

It was different with Shepard. She was stronger and more capable than any woman he'd ever known. She'd shown him through her unique blend of tough love and gentle encouragement that she wasn't afraid of a future with him, and she wasn't giving up what they had without a fight. In spite of all of his weak protests about his past, his faulty biotics, and the threat of breaking the regs, she'd persistently insisted that what they had was special. On the night before Ilos, she'd shown him just how true that was. How a woman could simultaneously be so fiery, strong, and independent, and gorgeous, delicate, and feminine was beyond his understanding.

Kaidan knew that he was smitten with her. He was addicted to the sound of her laugh, a regrettably rare sound over the past few months with all of the chaos that came with chasing Saren. But in the few days since they had gotten a chance to unwind on shore leave, he'd gotten a glimpse of the Shepard he remembered from a year ago, the beautiful, spirited woman he'd fallen flat for almost as soon as they'd met. The scintillating smile that reached all the way up into her startlingly green eyes stopped him in his tracks. He loved how easy it was to talk to her, loved waking up to the sight of her frumpy bed head every morning that week, surprising her with sweets, her favorite guilty pleasure. He couldn't get enough of the thrill he got at every soft kiss she left on his skin, every affectionate whisper in his ear, of how she somehow made him feel equal parts vulnerable and invincible in her arms. He would get distracted sometimes watching her on the battlefield, marveling at how her biotic strength nearly matched his own, and at the ethereal blue glow emanating from her as she unleashed her abilities. He loved watching her run into a crowd of hostiles with guns blazing, drunk on the joy of the fight, almost as much as he hated how reckless she was—hated it because he realized now that losing her might just be more than he could handle.

He shivered at the thought, but quickly reminded himself that he hadn't lost her. Not yet. He looked out of the window once more, his eyes finding that last shuttle, reminding himself to breathe, reminding himself that she was in there, that she was alive. He would take this unexpected tragedy as a sign. A reminder that despite the seemingly miraculous things they'd done, they were mortal after all. He and Shepard had this one life to live, and he wasn't going to waste any more of it hiding behind his insecurities, behind the rules, or behind his fears about what the others would think.

They were nearing a planet that he suspected they would land on until the Alliance sent a rescue crew. It was Alchera, if he remembered rightly. They would have a cold night ahead of them if so, but that didn't matter. The moment that they landed he would sprint to Shepard's shuttle and keep her safe and warm in his arms. He would hold her close, and he would finally tell her that he was completely, hopelessly in love with her. He was nervous, of course. What if she didn't feel the same? What if she thought he was moving too fast? But the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Shepard loved him, too—that it was more than duty that had drawn them to one another in a seemingly boundless galaxy. He knew somehow that what he had with Shepard was the reason it had never worked out without anyone else. It was perfect.

With that reassuring thought in mind, Kaidan sat back in his seat again, an exhausted sigh on his lips. Whatever was on the ship that had just thrown so much of their lives into uncertainty, he was sure of one thing: he could face it with Shepard by his side.

* * *

 


	3. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hello! Here's a fresh update. Lots of angst, in a chapter that comes completely from my own version of events; but I hope that you like it nonetheless. I'll try to update this weekly. Please follow or comment if you're interested! Have a great long weekend.**

Kaidan got dressed in a numb haze, struggling to keep himself together by focusing on the task of getting ready to leave. He was taking things one moment at a time, concentrating on each step of his routine to distract himself. If he allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of his destination, he'd surely fall apart. So he blocked it all out as he buttoned up his black dress uniform, staring at his reflection in the mirror situated in his modest Citadel hotel room.

His stubble was dark and rough, stretching down his neck almost to his collar, but he didn't have it in himself to shave, or even to tame his unruly black hair. His skin was pale and had a sickly blue tinge in the fluorescent lighting above the bathroom sink. His eyes were an angry red, clashing with the rich amber hue of his irises. The circles under his eyes, a clear sign of the utterly sleepless nights he'd suffered through over the past few days, were made worse by the fact that one of them was blackened. It turned out that for all his brilliant calibrations and exacting capability as a sniper, Garrus was actually a pretty scrappy fighter up-close, even when unarmed. His right hook wasn't something Kaidan would soon forget, no matter how hard he tried. If the growing pile of empty whiskey bottles accumulating in the bedroom behind him were any indication, he was trying awfully hard.

Checking the time on his omni tool, Kaidan saw that he was still a little ahead of schedule, but he decided to leave anyway. The longer he stayed in the room alone, the more likely he was to start _thinking_ , and that was dangerous. The last time he'd let his thoughts go _there_ , he'd gotten soundly drunk and gotten into a bar fight with a batarian who'd made a snide comment about _her_ when the news vids on the bar monitors replayed the story—again. Drunk and completely overcome with grief and rage, Kaidan had lost it for the second time that week, his biotic power taking on a will of its own and destroying the bar, nearly killing several patrons and doing thousands of credits worth of damage. Without Anderson there to save his ass, he would have been in deep with C-Sec for that one. Thank God for Anderson.

But Anderson hadn't been there to hold him back when he'd lost control the _first_ time that week—on the day that he struggled in vain to keep out of his thoughts. But every time he closed his eyes, the memory threatened to take over . . .

_A distorted male voice crackled over the comms in the shuttle, startling Kaidan from his reverie._

_"Normandy Shuttle SR1-7, do you copy? This is Captain Nathan Phipps."_

_"Copy. Boy, is it good to hear a friendly voice," Kaidan answered quickly. "Where are you?"_

_"Not far from your position. The conditions on Alchera in your projected landing zone are not favorable. We're going to try to intercept you instead. We got your distress beacon. I'm the captain of an Alliance Cruiser deployed to your location. Confirm that you can prepare to board. I'll patch you through to our XO for further instructions when you're ready."_

_"Roger that, Captain," Kaidan replied, putting his helmet back on and gesturing for Liara to join him at the shuttle controls._

_An hour later, Kaidan sighed in relief as the last passenger from his shuttle removed her breather helmet and sat down, safe and sound inside the large Alliance ship. He looked eagerly to the doors leading out to the docking bay they'd recently come through, hoping to see Shepard and Joker soon. Most of the crew and all of Shepard's personal squad had escaped the Normandy before the blast that had finally taken it down, and Shepard's shuttle was the last to board the Cruiser._

_He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, matted to his head by the helmet he'd been wearing moments ago. He wasn't injured, but the stress of the day had taken its toll and he felt fatigue tugging at him, urging him to sit down with the others who were comforting each other and taking stock of the survivors and the fallen._

_He ignored his protesting muscles and joints and paced nervously back and forth in front of the doors, waiting to see her. He had never been as terrified as he'd felt when he'd thought Shepard had died in the explosion. He had seen her shuttle, though. He knew that she and Joker had made it out; but he would feel better when he could see her for himself. He couldn't wait to take her slender but sturdy form into his arms, inhale the familiar, rosy scent of her hair. He would scold her for her reckless, dangerous behavior, of course. But then he would kiss her—would grab her by the waist and feel her soft lips against his own, relish in the taste of her and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed, passionately and fiercely. He would do it in front of the rest of them if he had to, if only to assure himself that she was really alive. If only to remind her that he cared about her, damnit, and that she needed to be more careful!_

_He looked up when the doors hissed open to reveal Joker, limping through the doorway with the help of two of the Cruiser's crewmen. The doors slid shut behind them with an abruptness that stopped Kaidan short. "_ Where _is she?" he asked urgently, looking at Joker entreatingly, struggling to keep the panic from his voice._

_Joker met Kaidan's heated gaze for a short moment before he lowered his eyes to the ground. Confused, one of the crewman supporting Joker spoke up. "This pilot was the last person to be recovered, and the only passenger on the shuttle back there," he said, gesturing to the docking bay behind him with the hand that wasn't holding Joker up._

_Kaidan reeled in shock, the gravity of what the crewman had just told him sinking in slowly, painfully. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think straight. Surely, there was some mistake._ Shepard can't be gone, _he thought, desperately._ She always has a plan. She always saves everyone. She made it out. She definitely made it out.

_Tali spoke up from behind him, her accent and environment suit obscuring her speech. Even still, the pain in her voice was evident. "What about Shepard?" she asked, stepping toward Joker hesitantly. "Liara told me that Shepard went back for you. She was with you, wasn't she?" Her voice broke on the last syllable, the plaintive sound rousing Joker. He finally looked up, clearing his throat and meeting not Tali's, but Kaidan's eyes. Kaidan tried to ignore the tears running down Joker's cheeks and glistening in his beard as he gathered the courage to speak._

_"She, uh . . . Shepard didn't make it," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Kaidan barely registered the collection of gasps and cries behind him as the Normandy's crew took in the news, but he felt oddly numb. He still couldn't,_ wouldn't  _believe it. Shepard wouldn't abandon them. She was too smart, too resourceful to die in such a way. Her resilience and strength was part of what he loved about her. She was simply too important. Her light burned too brightly to be snuffed out without warning in some random attack._

_"What do you mean, 'didn't make it?'" Garrus asked, his dual-toned voice carrying an edge of anger that Kaidan didn't often hear. Garrus stood quickly, the chair he'd pulled up to the table full of crewman clattering to its side behind him as he advanced toward Joker with long, deliberate steps. "Like Tali said, she went back for you. What. Happened?" He spoke slowly, menacingly, emphasizing the question._

_Joker's self-control seemed to implode at that. Pushing away the two crewman supporting him, he stepped forward and struggled to stand on his own. He wobbled precariously, but looked up at Garrus defiantly. "What happened? What HAPPENED?! What do you_ think _happened? She saved me, goddamnit. I was being an idiot and she saved me, like she ALWAYS does," he cried. "She got me into the shuttle, but that ship came around for another attack," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "She deployed the shuttle from the outside. I guess she knew that she wouldn't be able to make it in time, and that I wouldn't leave her myself. But I still saw it."_

_"Saw what?" Kaidan heard Liara ask in a small voice, surprising him. She was standing right next to him, but he hadn't even noticed that she'd gotten up from the table behind them._

_"Saw her get fucking_ spaced _, okay?" Joker finally broke down into sobs, falling to one knee. "Saw my best friend_ die. _"_

_Kaidan didn't think. The pain, the unfairness of it all, too severe—blocking out his thoughts, turning everything into white-hot agony. But he could still move. In two strides he was standing before Joker. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him to his feet in an easy motion, his rage lending him strength. His biotics hummed with pent-up energy, the blue haze glowing all around him. But it didn't cloud his vision. Through the salty tears and the pale, blue light he could clearly see the fear in Joker's eyes. With his free hand Kaidan punched him in the face with all of his strength, his body shivering with adrenaline as Joker's nose broke with a satisfying crunch. "IT'S. ALL. YOUR. FAULT," he roared, punctuating each word with another punch as he savagely landed blow after blow on Joker's bloody face._

_Reaching back for another hit, he felt his arm restrained by the painful grip of Garrus' talons. "KAIDAN, STOP THIS!" he demanded, as one of the crewman pulled Joker out of Kaidan's grasp. Fury throbbed behind Kaidan's eyes. His blood thundered through his veins and he wrenched his arm free and wheeled on Garrus, unleashing a biotic Throw on the big turian. Caught unaware, Garrus toppled over and fell, his back hitting the floor with a loud thud. Panting with exertion and adrenaline, Kaidan turned back to Joker, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose and looking at Kaidan with wide-eyed disbelief._

_He closed the distance between them and prepared another biotic attack. "Kaidan, WAIT," Joker pleaded, scrambling backward from his seated position on the floor of the ship. Kaidan was dimly aware of Liara sobbing off to his right, begging him to stop, but he ignored her. Just as he focused his abilities on Joker's vulnerable form, Garrus danced into his view, ferocity contorting his features into an almost unrecognizable grimace._ Fuck _, Kaidan thought, violent anger boiling inside him. Before he could properly react, Garrus hit him in the face with a well-placed, powerful punch. Pain exploded around his left eye as he crumpled to the ground, its insistent throbbing the last thing he felt before losing consciousness._

Kaidan shook his head angrily, trying to dispel the thoughts he'd been so determinedly avoiding. Thinking back on his actions that day shamed him, but his shame was numbed by sharp and ever-present sadness. Yes, he regretted hurting Joker. After all, his inability to control himself was what had led him to kill Vyrnnus all those years ago, what had made him a threat in Rhana's eyes. Ever since then, he had built his life around control. The military had been perfect for that; its structure and regulation paired nicely with his own dedication to discipline and self-control. But Kaidan's calm and easygoing demeanor was the result of years of practice and hard work. He knew that he could easily snap into old extremes, and on the day he'd lost _her,_ his carefully constructed veneer of control had shattered. When he'd woken afterward in the medbay of the Cruiser, he'd refused medi-gel and treatment for his eye. He didn't deserve it after what he'd done—wanted to feel every ounce of the pain that was coming his way, so it might distract him from something even worse.

Shepard's death left a hole in his heart that he knew he could never fill. Losing her felt like losing part of himself. He had never loved anything or anyone the way he loved her. To think that she was gone, to think that he'd never look into her bright green eyes, never hear her musical laughter, never feel the electricity of his skin on hers, ever again, was more than he could handle. He was ashamed of his behavior that day, but his shame was eclipsed by the unbearable weight of his grief.

Kaidan didn't know pain like that existed. It had only been six days since he'd lost her, but it felt like an eternity. He kept reliving again and again their last moments together, kept remembering, with a dread that made him sick, that his last words to her had been, "Aye, aye." Shepard had died never having known how much he loved her, never knowing that he would trade places with her in a second, that she was the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing he thought of as he drifted off at night.

Now, in the trail of destruction she'd left in her wake, he hated himself with a malice that bordered on madness. He hated himself for obeying her order to evacuate, for leaving her there to fend for herself, for not grabbing her and dragging her into that shuttle behind him, for not seeing her to safety. He'd been a fool to blame Joker. Sure, the pilot had made the mistake of trying to stay aboard a sinking ship, but Kaidan knew that he was the real culprit. Knew that he'd looked the woman he loved in the eyes and had been too cowardly to tell her. He also knew that he'd been too afraid of her disapproval to ignore her orders, to step up and save _her_ the one time she'd needed saving. The self-loathing and regret would plague him for the rest of his days.

He'd spent the past week in a booze-filled stupor, trying to block out thoughts of Shepard. The love of his life had been murdered by an unknown foe, had died, frightened and alone, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

No, he couldn't bring Shepard back. No one could. And he was only just then beginning to accept that she was really gone. Her body hadn't been recovered, so he had held out a few days in denial, clinging to the illusion that she could have survived somehow. But Anderson had talked some sense into him the day before. "She's gone, son," he said gently, laying a hand tentatively on Kaidan's shoulder, as if he were afraid the young marine might snap again at any moment. Anderson had asked him to do perhaps the one honorable thing left to him after all of the mistakes he'd made—to speak at Shepard's memorial. At first, he'd refused. He felt sure he couldn't keep it together long enough to give Shepard the tribute she deserved, felt sure he'd break down as soon as he started thinking about her. Even worse, he didn't think he could face his friends after what he'd done over Alchera.

But he'd caved and agreed when Anderson had reminded him that it was what Shepard would have wanted. Kaidan was her closest confidant, the one person she _always_ chose to bring along for every mission. Their affection for one another had been plain to see, he realized, and there was no one who cared for her more deeply than he did. He was the obvious choice to speak at her service, and he'd spent the whole night writing and rewriting what he wanted to say.

He turned a corner and climbed some steps up to the Presidium commons, feeling for his speech in the pocket of his slacks. He ran his fingers over the creased and wrinkled paper to reassure himself that he'd brought it along. Shepard's memorial was being held on a viewing deck that overlooked the lakes and greenery, a beautiful spot. Still, a _memorial . . ._ the thought made him queasy. How could his favorite person, the bravest, smartest, most compassionate woman he'd ever known, be reduced to a memory?

With a nervous sigh, he fell into line with the other mourners. He spotted Tali and Liara, dressed in black, already seated in places of honor up on a dais, their chairs situated near a podium. The defeated look on Liara's tear-stained face echoed Kaidan's own pain, and he blinked back fresh tears of his own, hoping desperately that he could make amends with the friends he'd hurt, and exercise self-control long enough to deliver a speech worthy of Shepard's memory.

Taking a deep breath, he mounted the steps to join them.

* * *


	4. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **know that Shepard's part follows the game a little too closely for some tastes here. But I will only recycle game dialogue when I think it's appropriate. I thought it appropriate for Shepard's return. Shoot me a comment with feedback if you'd like. Enjoy!**

The insistent thump of the speakers made Kaidan's drink vibrate against the bar-top, creating a humming noise that grated against his ears. He lifted the glass and gulped its remaining contents in one large swallow, barely noticing the burn in his throat as the whiskey warmed his insides. "Another?" the barkeep asked him, making his way toward Kaidan after serving a trio of girls.

"Yeah," Kaidan replied, raising his voice to be heard over the music. The Dark Star was busy for a Wednesday, but that was just the way he liked it. He pushed his glass toward the bartender, a quiet male turian who was regarding him with mild curiosity as he poured him another glass of whiskey, neat. It was good quality, an Earth import, and Kaidan tried to sip this one more slowly as he met the bartender's stare.

Kaidan knew why the man looked at him that way—he had become something of a celebrity as a result of the media frenzy surrounding Shepard's death. The Alliance had essentially martyred Shepard, publicizing her murder along with a laundry list of her good deeds in an attempt to bring her (and, by extension, humanity) back into the galaxy's good graces after she had allowed the old Council to perish in the fight against Sovereign. She'd done it for the right reasons, of course; but that hadn't mattered to humanity's more vocal critics, particularly amongst the salarians.

It had been a month since Shepard's memorial, but her death had left a wound on Kaidan heart that had only bled and festered as days went by. Every night, he had grisly nightmares in which he watched Shepard die in a hundred different explosions, or watched her get caught in Alchera's gravitational field and fall, terrified, to her death. In each variation, one thing remained the same—Kaidan would be paralyzed, watching helplessly from a shuttle and doing nothing to save her. Waking in a panic from these disturbing dreams, he discovered that it was just as hard to escape the crushing guilt and grief by day: Shepard's face was everywhere—and, it turned out, so was his.

The inspiring story of the late Commander Shepard and her dedicated, ragtag crew of aliens and Alliance soldiers had taken the Citadel by storm. As Shepard's closest companion, Kaidan found his image alongside hers on vids everywhere he looked, heard his name on the lips of journalists as they embellished the already riveting story of Shepard's life with steamy, mostly made-up details of his relationship with her. The heartfelt eulogy that he'd almost failed to deliver at her memorial only served fuel the fire.

But the limelight only intensified his pain, so he'd actually been glad to receive the news that he was being put on mandatory leave. It was no surprise, really—not after he'd attacked Joker over Alchera. Not after he'd broken down at Shepard's memorial service. In the absence of his military schedule, his carefully disciplined routine had crumbled. He spent most of his days sleeping and most of his nights trying to drink his memories away. While he had failed at forgetting her, he definitely succeeded in earning himself a bad reputation at the local bars by starting fights and refusing to leave after last call. So when he'd received an official Council summons a few days prior, he naturally assumed that he was going to be chastised in the form of Alliance dishonorable discharge for his less-than-exemplary public displays of dejection.

Oddly, he'd felt nothing at the prospect of being discharged. He'd reached a stage in his depression where no emotions managed to get past the numb sort of haze of sadness that cloaked him day and night. For the past few weeks, he hadn't shaved, hadn't pressed his clothes once. He'd lost weight, and his pale skin and frequently red eyes were only slightly covered by his unruly black hair. The Council summons was a necessary motivator to at least try and look presentable. So that morning, for the first time in a long time, he'd woken early, eaten breakfast, and cleaned himself up. His newly-shaven face felt unnaturally smooth. He'd combed his hair into place, surprised by how long it had gotten. Regarding his reflection in the mirror that morning, his freshly-pressed uniform looked starchy and foreign. He just hoped that it would fool the Council into thinking he was handling his grief with some degree of dignity. Kaidan told himself that was what Shepard would have wanted.

His meeting with the Council would be that evening, their last appointment before close of business. Killing time at the Dark Star felt natural, necessary even. The alternative was to be left alone with his thoughts. Kaidan tossed back another drink, his face expressionless as the liquor warmed him up on its way down. The turian was still eyeing him, though now he stood a few feet away, polishing a glass and trying to act casual. "You look familiar," he grunted at last, setting down the glass and tossing his polishing rag over his shoulder as he stepped back toward Kaidan.

Kaidan's black eye had healed completely, and he looked up to meet the turian's gaze with his own piercing amber stare. He hadn't been recognized since Shepard's memorial, not in the sorry state he'd let himself fall into recently. But after his exertions that morning, Kaidan realized that he must have looked exactly as he did in most of the vids that had been circulating—normal, healthy even, and most importantly, easily recognizable. He didn't care to reveal himself to the turian unless he had to, so he made no reply aside from pushing his once again empty glass forward for another round.

Just when he felt that he'd successfully evaded the nosy bartender's curiosity, he heard an excited, feminine voice chime in. "Yeah, I know _you_!" exclaimed a bubbly blonde girl who looked to be in her early twenties. "You're _Kaidan Alenko_!"

An audible gasp came from behind the blonde, but Kaidan struggled to remain stoic and stared straight ahead. "Really?! Commander _Shepard's_ Kaidan?!" The second girl was taller and plain-faced, but wearing a tiny dress that left little to the imagination.

"He's even more handsome in person," the blonde observed in an awed voice. He sighed. _Just what I need,_ he thought, exasperated. The last thing Kaidan felt like doing was fending off drunk, vapid groupies, and talking about Shepard was absolutely out of the question.

"Control yourselves. Have some fucking respect for the dead," a third girl said to her friends, shaking her head in a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. Kaidan looked up at her forceful remark, hopeful that maybe this pointless rendezvous could end, that at least one of them had some sense. The third girl was traditionally pretty with soft features and a slim figure. But it was her very long and raven black hair that caught his attention. _Like Shepard's_ , he thought miserably. He looked away, wincing at the sudden pang of agony that came with the memory of Shepard's singularly gorgeous hair.

She had always worn it up while on duty, arranging it in a sort loose braid that she twisted up into a bun. It was practical but elegant. Kaidan had been surprised by her hair when she'd let it down in his presence for the first time—the long, exquisitely dark locks covering nearly the entire length of her back. _God, she was_ so _beautiful_ , he thought, feeling a lump rise in his throat in spite of himself. He didn't want to forget how beautiful she was, but it was extraordinarily painful to be reminded of the way her hair caught the light in their quarters on the last night they'd spent together, of how it had spread out on the pillow around her, letting off that faint, rosy aroma that he'd become so familiar with and so intoxicated by. He tried to push away the image of her striking green eyes, twinkling mirthfully up at him before she'd grabbed him by the collar and yanked his face down to hers for a kiss.

 _No!_ he thought fiercely, shaking his head to dispel the memory before getting unsteadily to his feet, making to leave the club early—anything to avoid dredging up the past. The foul-mouthed girl with the familiar, dark hair looked like she wanted to say something more, but Kaidan tossed some credits at the now wide-eyed turian bartender and rushed out.

He was halfway to the Council chambers when he realized the glass was still in his hand. He downed the remaining contents in one motion before tossing the glass in a nearby wastebasket and stopping to adjust his attire. He stood outside the elevator, trying to discern the state of his appearance in the murky reflection he could just make out in the brushed metal of the elevator doors. After taking a deep, steadying breath, Kaidan pressed the button to summon the elevator, and stepped inside when it arrived. He was happy to have the carriage to himself as the elevator moved with a mechanical hum. When he reached his destination, he stepped out into the courtyard and was happy to see a familiar face.

"Alenko," David Anderson said warmly, extending his hand with a smile. Kaidan shook his hand, glad to see his friend but a bit embarrassed under the circumstances. He hoped that it wouldn't be too awkward when Anderson, a council member, witnessed the discharge of his former subordinate. "You're early," Anderson continued, walking toward the Council seats. "I was just about to go and grab a cup of coffee. But since you're here, we can just handle this now."

Kaidan was surprised to see that the other councilors were not present. "Sir," he began, wondering how he was to be properly punished when only his close and clearly biased friend was there. "Where are—"

"Ah, it's just me for this, lieutenant," Anderson interjected, sitting on a nearby bench and inviting Kaidan to join him with a gesture. "This matter is actually something I wanted to discuss with you in private. The Council thinks I am reprimanding you for your recent uh . . . behavior. "

"Oh," Kaidan replied quietly. His mind was racing. A part of him was happy that he wasn't going to be discharged, but another part of him was nervous about the real purpose for this meeting.

Anderson interrupted his reverie with an unexpected declaration. "Alenko, I know things have been rough for you lately, but I think it's for the best if you get back to work. I'm sending you out on assignment."

Kaidan perked up at that. Yes, he was still grieving, and he worried a bit about his ability to get back to work after his recent ordeals. But an assignment meant work, and work meant being busy. The busier he was, the less time he would have to wallow in misery over Shepard. It had been a month since Shepard's memorial, and even longer since he had done an honest day's work. He didn't want to forget her, and knew for a fact that he couldn't even if he wanted to. But he knew that she would want him to work, and to make himself useful. "What's the assignment?" he asked, meeting Anderson's gaze.

The older man seemed surprised that Kaidan didn't require any convincing, and moved on with the conversation quickly before Kaidan could change his mind. "The Ascension Project needs some more good people on the ground, and we're thinking Alliance soldiers like yourself are perfect for the operation. Intel on the location of the Academy and the biotic potential of the students in the Ascension program has reportedly gotten into Cerberus hands and we need to make sure that the students are protected. There are hundreds of students there, all gifted but young and impressionable biotics. If the Academy is infiltrated by Cerberus, I don't even want to think of the damage that they could do to and with those students."

Kaidan thought for a moment. Memories from his own time in biotic training were unpleasant. He knew that the Ascension Project was a good initiative—that it was nothing like the hell he'd endured at BAaT training. "Brain Camp" had done lasting psychological damage, but maybe being assigned at Grissom was a chance for him to make a better tomorrow for kids like himself. "I like the sound of that," Kaidan said, shocked to find that he was smiling for the first time in a long time.

"Glad to hear it," Anderson replied. But then he cleared his throat and looked away uncomfortably. "There's something more."

"Uh . . . well, lay it on me," Kaidan said, chuckling uneasily.

"I recommended you for this assignment personally. The Council, as well as some among the Alliance higher-up are concerned that members of Shepard's former squad, including you, will raise a panic about Reapers after Sovereign and the latest . . . attack. I suggested that we station you at Grissom in response to a motion that was raised to extend your mandatory leave indefinitely. This was my way to show that your value outweighs the risk you present."

Kaidan was shocked. The Council wanted to suspend him on the off chance that he would try to spread Reaper paranoia? He had no idea who had attacked the Normandy. The Reapers were obviously a possibility, but the ship that had fired on them that day was unfamiliar. Ever since then, Kaidan had been too wrapped up in his grief to think about the next step . . . revenge. But maybe this was the perfect opportunity. He could work at Grissom and stay off the grid for the time being, all the while doing research and gaining intel on his own time. What was more, he could do meaningful work at the Academy—it would be more than just a cover. If he couldn't continue typical Alliance service, this would be a worthwhile interlude. So Kaidan decided that because he liked Anderson and wanted the job, he would play nice with the Council for now.

"When do we start?" he asked.

"I've arranged transport to Elysium departing this weekend if you can be ready," Anderson replied.

Kaidan nodded his assent. After hammering out the details of his ensuing departure, he bid Anderson farewell and made his way back toward his apartment. Walking through the Presidium, Kaidan felt uneasy that the Council saw him as a sort of threat. At the same time, he felt a renewed sense of purpose that had eluded him for weeks. The hole in his heart Shepard had left was still there, still throbbing. Perhaps it would never be filled. But as he looked about the bright lights of the Presidium, all of the hustle and bustle of the Citadel by night suddenly felt less oppressive than it had before. He passed a monitor playing yet another news vid about Shepard. This time, it appeared to be a biopic honoring the late, great commander instead of a news story covering her death or memorial service. He stopped, watching the flashing images of surprisingly old footage. Kaidan stared into the clear and determined face of a very young Shepard, famed for being the sole survivor of the batarian massacre on Mindoir.

He smiled sadly at the sight of her, only sixteen back then but already tough as nails. She recounted the tragic story for the cameras without shedding a tear, her familiar voice already acquiring the charisma that would later captivate all who were lucky enough to know her.

Kaidan turned away as the profile on Shepard went to commercial. He walked over to the vista overlooking the lake and gazed at the reflection of the city lights on the water, thinking. Shepard had done so much in her short life. Her actions echoed across the galaxy, but he was most fond of the small things—those private memories that were just for him. He'd always cherish their morning coffee, her bawdy sense of humor, the way he would take her by the hand and lay a secret kiss across her wrist before they parted. He would find little reminders of her in the delicate aroma of roses and the metallic scent of the oil she cleaned her guns with. He would think of her every time he heard the 1980s Earth music she loved so much; Kaidan had never met anyone with such a peculiar affinity for _Toto_ of all things.

No, the mark Shepard had left on him would never fade, yet maybe the ragged edges of that gaping hole in his heart could heal a bit. Maybe he could get some occasional reprieve from the pain of losing her. He had to try; he needed to be as tough as the woman he loved had been. He might spend his life in mourning, but Kaidan took solace in the thought that she would be proud of him for carrying on, for going to help biotics like themselves. Shepard had died doing her duty. He'd be damned if he didn't live to do his.

* * *

_Two years later . . ._

Shepard woke with a gasp. Her eyes snapped open, blinking furiously at the bright light as she struggled to breathe. The air felt heavy, difficult for her lungs to manage. Above her she could see a white ceiling and the arms of various medical machines looming. Her eyes watered as they got accustomed to the fluorescent light. After a few moments, the light was obscured, forming a halo around a face as it bent over Shepard. Her eyes adjusted and Shepard looked into the face of a strange man. He was bald and pale, with narrow blue eyes and a light dusting of facial hair.

"There. On the monitor—something's wrong," a woman said, a hint of panic in her voice. Shepard's drug-addled, cloudy mind registered that the woman had an accent. She couldn't be sure, but she thought it was British. She gradually became aware of a dull ache in nearly every part of her body. As she slowly gained awareness, she felt that she was hooked up to monitors and machines by numerous needles and tubes.

Troubled, Shepard decided to sever these connections, but found to her horror that could hardly move. She managed to wiggle her fingers slightly, but was too weak to lift her arms. She sensed that there was a heavy sedative dulling her responses, but it was wearing off by the second. Desperately, Shepard tried to remember where she was, how she had gotten there. But all she could remember was pain. "She's reacting to outside stimuli. Showing an awareness of her surroundings," the man observed.

She could feel her heart pounding, hear a nearby monitor register her accelerating heart rate. The woman bent over Shepard, a concerned look on her pretty face. Her dark, wavy hair hung over her shoulders and danced in Shepard's vision, making her dizzy. The woman regarded Shepard with alarm in her intense blue eyes. "Oh my god, Miranda. I think she's waking up," the man said from Shepard's right side.

"Damnit, Wilson. She's not ready yet. Give her more sedative. _Now!_ " the woman called Miranda ordered. Scrambling with the settings of the myriad beeping machines, Wilson faded from view. Shepard's mind was reeling. _Who are these people? Where am I? Where is my crew? Kaidan . . ._

Just as Kaidan's kind, handsome face swam into her vision, Shepard struggled to move and was elated when her left arm obeyed. The feeling in her limbs was increasing rapidly, and while she was in pain, she was encouraged to find that she could now move both her hands and turn her head side to side. She raised her left arm shakily, but Miranda caught her forearm and laid it down by her side. "Shepard—don't try to move. Just lie still. Try to stay calm," her voice was oddly reassuring but Shepard was headstrong. She wasn't going to lie back and let herself be poked and prodded by strangers without a fight.

"Heartrate still climbing. Brain activity is off the charts," Wilson said nervously. _Your damned right it_ is, Shepard thought determinedly, willing her mind to clear, begging her limbs to obey as she struggled to sit up. But Wilson had administered another sedative. Shepard could feel it taking over, and still she fought.

"Stats pushing into the red zone. It's not working," Wilson exclaimed. Miranda rushed over to the machines, pushing Wilson aside as she regarded the stats on the readout.

"Another dose. Now," she commanded. Wilson obeyed and Shepard felt her treacherous senses dull, felt her heartrate and breathing slow involuntarily. Her eyelids suddenly felt dangerously heavy. She struggled to remain conscious, but the drugs were too strong.

"Heartrate dropping. Stats falling back into normal range," Wilson reported, relieved. He sounded far away, his voice odd and distorted. "That was close. We almost lost her," he added, from what sounded like miles away. Shepard's vision became blurry.

Miranda leaned over her again. Looking first down at Shepard and then over to Wilson. "I told you your estimates were off. Run the numbers again." Shepard could barely make out what Miranda was saying. Her voice sounded small, like it was coming through an outdated comm system. Shepard blinked rapidly, desperate to retain consciousness, but her eyes drifted shut and she was engulfed in quiet darkness.

It felt like only a moment had passed before Shepard woke again to the sound of her own name on the Miranda's lips. "Wake up, Commander. Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed, now—this facility is under attack." This time, Miranda's voice _was_ coming through a comm system.

Shepard felt slightly better, stronger than she had when she'd woken before. Her mind was still fuzzy and her limbs heavy, but she quickly assessed her surroundings. She felt a jerk as the room she was in registered a nearby impact. She sat up slowly, rubbing her jaw and blinking to adjust her eyes to the light once again. "Your scars aren't healed, but I need to get you moving. This facility is under attack," Miranda repeated over the comm.

The room shook again; the lights flickered and Shepard heard the unmistakable sounds of combat outside. Eager for answers, she got to her feet, surprised to find that she could walk as her dizziness and confusion dissipated. "There's armor and a pistol in the corner," Miranda informed her. "Be sure to pick up ammunition. You're going to need to protect yourself."

It was a lot to take in at once, but Shepard excelled at focusing in a crisis. She suited up and loaded the handgun as instructed, looking around the room with apprehensive curiosity. It was a laboratory or operating room of some kind, but tables covered with instruments were overturned from the ruckus, and monitors were registering only static. "Keep your head down!" Miranda shouted, suddenly. Shepard ducked into cover as an explosion took out the door to the lab. "Someone is hacking security and trying to kill you," Miranda explained.

"Well, that's comforting," Shepard replied, dusting herself off and preparing to explore further. She exited the room and climbed some stairs to enter a larger room featuring a sweeping vista of enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, Shepard saw the expanse of space. _A space station_ , she thought. _Where_ is _this place?_

"Keep moving," Miranda said in her ear. "Try to hold off the mechs until I can guide you to the shuttles."

"Mechs?" Shepard responded. "Why are they attacking me?"

"There will be time for explanation later, just focus on getting out," Miranda said, frustration evident in her urgent tone.

Shepard encountered her first group of the aforementioned mechs in the next room. They were not very accurate, but her own weapon was not very powerful. She was relieved to find that her reflexes were still intact, and after a brief shootout, the mechs lay in a smoking pile and Shepard continued forward. "Nice work," Miranda chimed in appreciatively. "But more reinforcements are on their way."

Following Miranda's directions, Shepard emerged into another large room, this time up on a balcony. As she glanced at the floor below, a door opened with a hiss, revealing a large group of hostile mechs. Ducking behind the balcony railing, Shepard noticed a pile of crates to her left. She crawled over to it and rummaged through the weapons and equipment inside the nearest crate. Amazed at her luck, Shepard lifted a heavy, formidable-looking grenade launcher. It was loaded. "Use the grenades—quickly!" Miranda insisted. _Good thing Captain Obvious_ _is on the case_ , Shepard thought wryly as she got in position and took aim. The mechs continued to fire at Shepard where she crouched in relative safety behind the cover of the crates. The moment she heard a cease in the fire from below, she popped up from cover and fired off two grenades at the crowd of mechs before immediately ducking back again.

There were two satisfying booms in quick succession, and Shepard felt the heat and blowback from the explosions, even from her place on the balcony above them. She stood cautiously, and when the smoke cleared, she noted with relief that all of the enemies were destroyed. Her body hummed with adrenaline, and she was pleased to acknowledge the powerful thrum of her biotics for the first time since she had been awake. She reached her hand to her head and rubbed her fingers over her implant. It felt different, but not uncomfortably. _An upgrade?_ she wondered, confused. Shepard wasn't sure how, but she seemed to be in fit, fighting form.

She vaulted over the railing, landing first on some boxes before jumping down to the floor below. Proceeding through the doorway, Shepard heard Miranda come over the comms again, but this time she was distorted. "You're doing—Shepard—head to the—"

"Miranda, I didn't catch that last," Shepard said uneasily.

"Shepard?—read me?—I've got—headed to—position—"

"Damnit," Shepard muttered. After losing contact with Miranda altogether, she proceeded through the facility unaided, picking up ammo and taking out mechs along the way. She came across an empty workspace with an open laptop projecting a vid of Miranda's face. Shepard activated the vid and took a step back to watch.

"Progress is slow, but subject shows signs of recovery. Major organs are functional and there are signs of rudimentary neurological activity."

Wilson came on next: "Update. The cost of this project is astronomical—over four billion credits so far. But no one seems to care that we've gone over budget. I don't know where the boss gets all his money. Maybe it's better not to know. I just wish he'd kick a little more in my direction once in a while."

 _Four_ billion _?_ Shepard thought in a daze. _Why?_ Following the sounds of combat, she proceeded into another room through the door to her right. Shepard started in surprise at the sight of a young man hunching down behind another balcony railing, jumping up at intervals to return fire to a group of attacking mechs across the room. He wore a combat uniform and seemed skilled with a gun. Shepard was even more taken aback when the man fired off a powerful biotic Throw, launching a mech into the air.

Any enemy of the mechs was a friend of hers. Shepard hurried into the room, sliding into cover next to the man. When he turned to her, his mouth fell open in shock. "Whoa. What are you doing here?! I thought you were still a work in progress." _Well, at least he knows me_ , she thought uneasily. Being referred to as a "work in progress" felt strange.

"Are you with Miranda?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sorry for not introducing myself. I guess this is all pretty new to you, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly."

The man chuckled. "I'm Jacob Taylor," he said by way of introduction. "I've been stationed here for—" Cut off by another wave of mechs, Jacob quickly turned back to the fray and took one out with another biotic attack.

Shepard followed suit, but taking out mech after mech with pistol fire was slow going. She decided to test the effectiveness of her own biotic attacks in the wake of . . . whatever had happened to her. Taking a deep breath, she focused her energy and hurled a Lift at a group of mechs, delighted to see two of them rise into the air, hovering helplessly while she picked them off with her gun. _I've still got it,_ she thought, trying to focus on the positives amid the chaos.

In a break between waves, she and Jacob ducked back down to catch their breath and Shepard looked over at her new companion. He was athletically built, with short cropped hair, dark skin, and kind brown eyes. She was curious to know who he was, but even more anxious to know why she was here. "Things must be worse than I thought if Miranda has you running around," he noted, worry giving his voice an edge. "I'll fill you in, but we better get you to the shuttle first."

Shepard wasn't having any of it. "I know this isn't the best time," she replied, trying to sound understanding. "But I am sick of stumbling around here with no idea of what's going on."

Jacob regarded her for a moment, the silence between them perforated by explosions and gunfire throughout the building. "Okay," he relented. "Here's the short version. You and your ship were attacked and destroyed," he began.

Shepard inhaled sharply as the memory came back to her in a cold wave. The Normandy in flames, the screams of the crew, scurrying to escape. The defeated note in Kaidan's voice as she ordered his evacuation. Joker refusing to abandon ship. The second round of attacks from the mysterious, gargantuan enemy ship. And then the end, the last fatal blow that reduced the ship to scrap metal as Shepard was jettisoned into space with no tether, her oxygen tank ruptured as she flew wildly about with no control, nothing to grab onto.

She tried to keep the panic from her eyes as she looked to Jacob for more. "You were killed," he continued. He spoke confidently and quickly as though this was an accepted fact, even as she sat living and breathing next to him now; but that statement knocked the wind right out of her. "Dead as dead can be when they brought you hear," he added. _Who are 'they?' And how could I have been dead?_ she thought frantically.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Shepard knew it was true. Her last moments replayed like a horror movie in her mind. The orangey surface of Alchera getting closer and larger as she was caught in its gravitational field. The rising panic as her precious oxygen leaked out with a cruel hissing sound. The indescribable pain as she started to fight for air, like someone had her throat and lungs in an unrelenting vice. And then, nothing. _Blackness_.

"Our scientists spent the last two years putting you back together," Jacob said, bringing her back to the present. "You've been comatose or worse that whole time," he explained. "Welcome back to your life."

 _Two years?!_ Her mind reeled at the thought of that much time, gone! She struggled to stay focused and calm. _You can break down later, but not now_ , she told herself fiercely, forcing down the troubling thoughts of her own death. Someone had brought her here, spent two years and an enormous sum to save her. But who? She breathed deeply before remarking to Jacob, "This doesn't look like an Alliance facility."

"It isn't," he answered shortly. "I can't say much more than that for now. The Alliance officially declared you dead, and if we don't get to those shuttles soon, they'll be right."

 _Well isn't this just swell_ , she thought darkly, getting to her feet and preparing to move. It was clear that Jacob wasn't going to be more forthcoming for the time being, but she was used to putting herself into a tunnel vision mindset, to narrowing her scope to the objective at hand. The current mission was to escape the space station. She intended to do just that, but there was one last thing nagging at her mind. "Were there any other survivors from the Normandy?" she asked, almost fearful of the answer.

Jacob sighed. "I'll tell you what," he proposed. "You help me finish off these mechs, and I'll play Twenty Questions with you all day." She nodded and turned to find another wave of hostiles advancing on them. Taking position next to Jacob, Shepard fired off a biotic Throw at the group. Jacob gasped as the powerful field of energy knocked down every single mech. Some of them didn't get back up. Shepard was taken aback by her new-found strength. Had they enhanced her powers when . . . _rebuilding_ her? She decided that was a question for another time as she reloaded her pistol with a nearby thermal clip.

She and Jacob made a good team. Between their combined biotics strength and firepower, the enemy was no match for them. Together they dispensed with the group mechs without any trouble. As the last mech went down in a smoking heap of parts, Jacob stood up and holstered his weapon. "Okay, I said I'd answer your questions. What do you want to know?"

First and foremost, Shepard found it hard to believe that she had really been dead, even with her memories pointing to her death as the only possibly outcome of the attack on the Normandy. As she flexed her fingers and raised a hand tentatively to her face, she felt what she was sure was her own skin. It was scarred and cut up a bit, but felt like her skin nonetheless. The lines and curves of her face were familiar, natural. Her thick black hair was shorter, but the same color and texture. How was any of this possible? "You said they spent two years rebuilding me. How bad were my injuries?" she asked, trying to keep the nerves from her voice.

"I'm no doctor," Jacob began, "but it was bad. When I first saw you, you were nothing but meat and tubes. Anywhere else, they would have put you in a coffin." Shepard shuddered at that. She was claustrophobic and the thought of being _buried_ was a little hard to swallow. The realization that she had come that close to being _gone_ . . .

"Project Lazarus was different," Jacob went on. "Cutting edge technology."

"What do you mean," she asked suspiciously. "Cloning? Cybernetics?" Shepard knew that advances in technology made these things possible, but the thought that she might be a clone was a bit more than she could handle.

"I don't know the details," Jacob replied. "You'd have to ask the scientists. But I'm _pretty_ sure you're not a clone. They wanted you back exactly as you were. You're still you—you just might have some extra bits and pieces now."

 _Still me. That's good_. _But who needed me back this badly, and for what?_ Shepard cleared her throat uneasily. "The last thing I remember is the Normandy blowing up. Did anyone else make it?" This was the second time she'd asked about the others. She needed to know, but was terrified of the possibility that they had faced a similar fate to hers, but without the four-billion-dollar rebuild.

"Just about everybody survived," Jacob responded reassuringly. "A few servicemen on the lower decks didn't get out, and . . . Navigator Pressly was killed by an explosion. But everyone else made it out alive, even the non-Alliance crew like the asari and the quarian."

Shepard swallowed and turned her face away, digesting the news. Pressly had always been kind to her, and his death was unfortunate. But the fact that her squad and most of her crew had survived was spectacular.

"Do you know what any of them are up to now?" she asked. She was desperate find her friends and get some real answers. She could really use the comfort of Liara's quiet friendship and the warmth of Kaidan's embrace. But even if she could find them, how would they respond to seeing her, quite literally back from the grave, and a whole two years later? The whole situation was indescribably confusing.

"I don't know where any of them are." Shepard felt defeated at that. "It's been two years, commander," Jacob explained gently. "They've moved on, some left the Alliance. They could be anywhere now."

"They were my team," Shepard said quietly. "If they knew I was alive, they'd come back."

"Well," Jacob began with a shrug, "maybe you can track them down when we get off of this station— _if_ we get off this station."

Jacob was right. They needed to concentrate on getting out alive. Shepard cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest, looking around the room. "What's the quickest way to those shuttles?"

"Depends where the mechs are thickest. If we—" Jacob was cut off suddenly by incoming radio static.

A familiar voice, Wilson's voice, hailed them. "Check. Check. Anyone on this frequency—anyone out there still alive? Hello?"

Jacob responded quickly. "Wilson? It's Jacob. I'm with Shepard in D wing. We just took out a wave of mechs."

"Shepard's _alive_?! How the hell . . . Never mind. You need to get her out of there. Get to the service tunnels and head to the network control room."

"Roger that, Wilson," Jacob acknowledged. "Stay on this frequency."

Shepard decided to ask about the man she remembered from her first, somewhat traumatic return to consciousness. "I think I remember a Wilson checking on me when I woke up before . . ."

Jacob nodded. "Yeah, he's the chief medical tech. Answers directly to Miranda." _But who does Miranda answer to?_ she wondered.

"C'mon," Jacob urged. "Service tunnels are this way."

As Shepard and Jacob made their way down the recommended path, more mechs blocked their way. She quickly ducked near some piping and returned fire to their attackers, registering Jacob's frenzied speech as he hailed Wilson over the comms again. "Damnit, Wilson! This place is crawling with mechs!"

"The whole station is crawling with mechs. I'm doing the best I can!" Wilson replied irritably.

As Shepard continued to fight through another pack of hostiles, a brief moment of radio silence was interrupted by Wilson's voice once again, this time laced with panic. "Oh, god. They've found me—help!" he pleaded, his voice replaced by static.

"Wilson, where are you?" Jacob inquired, concerned.

"Server room B," he replied immediately. "Hurry. They're out of control!"

Worry was etched across Jacob's face, but Shepard noticed appreciatively that he kept a level head nonetheless. "Up these stairs," he instructed, gesturing for Shepard to follow as he took a nearby staircase up a level.

"Oh, no. I'm . . . I'm hit!" Wilson gasped over the comms.

"Damnit. Shepard, we need to hurry," Jacob remarked as they were impeded by more mechs. But the duo had grown accustomed to the enemy's fighting patterns, and Shepard found that they were dispatching them more rapidly with each new wave.

Finally, Shepard entered a dimly lit room littered with overturned tables and broken equipment. "Jacob, Shepard. Down here," Wilson called weakly from his hiding spot behind a low counter. "Bastards got me in the leg."

Shepard noted that his wounds were minor. She decided that Wilson must be prone to melodrama. The sight of the familiar yet mysterious man with the beady eyes brought Shepard back to her brief return to consciousness days before. "You were there the first time I woke up," she observed, ignoring the man's complaints.

"Yeah. That was me," he snapped, waving a hand dismissively. "Can we talk about this _after_ we fix my leg?"

"There's some medi-gel on the wall here," Jacob reported, pointing to a still-intact medi-gel container. "There should be enough to get him up and moving."

Shepard retrieved the medi-gel and administered it to Wilson's wounds, not ungently. The little man eyed her warily all the same as he got unsteadily to his feet. "Thanks, Shepard. Never thought you would be saving my life. I guess we're even now." She grunted noncommittally in response.

"I thought maybe I could shut down the security mechs," he explained, gesturing to the ruined control room. "But whoever hacked the system fried the whole thing completely. It's irreversible."

"We didn't ask what you were doing," Jacob returned slowly. "Why do you even have mech security clearance? You were stationed in the bio wing." Shepard didn't like the sound of this. Suspicion was written all over Jacob's face and with every word, Wilson seemed to get more and more uncomfortable.

Wilson decided unwisely to respond with hostility. "Haven't you been _listening_?" he hissed. "I came here to try and fix this. Besides, I was shot. How do you explain _that_?" Shepard didn't care fore his tone, but she didn't want the situation to escalate. She could feel Jacob's biotics humming with frustration as she took a step toward Wilson.

"Look, you're all strangers to me. We need to get out of here before we start assigning blame."

"Shepard's right," Jacob assented. "And we need to find Miranda. We can't leave her behind."

"Forget about Miranda," Wilson interjected, a little too quickly. "She was over in B wing. It was overrun with mechs. There's no way she survived." Shepard regarded Wilson uneasily. His lack of concern for his colleague was unsettling. He looked up for a moment, but quickly turned away when he noticed Shepard's stare.

"A bunch of mechs can't drop Miranda," Jacob argued. "She's alive," he insisted, crossing his arms resolutely over his chest and regarding Wilson doubtfully.

"Okay, then where is she?" Wilson asked, taking a nervous step forward. "There are only two options." His voice was shaky but he was getting louder with every word. "She's either dead, or she's a traitor!"

"Then why would she wake me up to warn me about the attack?" Shepard asked dubiously.

"Okay," Wilson said, raising his hands in surrender. "But that doesn't change the facts. We're here. She's not. We need to save ourselves." _Coward_ , Shepard thought darkly.

"The shuttle bay is only a few—" Wilson stopped short when the door behind him snapped open to reveal another group of mechs. Shepard and the others took cover as the mechs fired a volley of shots at them. Peaking up over the box she had hidden behind, Shepard saw a tall stack of what looked like fuel barrels near the advancing mechs.

"Stay down," she called to her companions, before firing off a trio of pistol blasts at the barrels. They went up in a loud explosion and the mechs were demolished in a blazing inferno.

As she stood and reloaded her weapon, preparing to move out, she was startled to find Jacob standing in front of her.

"Look, this is tense. If I tell you who we work for, will you trust me?" he asked seriously. Shepard looked into his honest-seeming brown eyes before nodding in agreement.

"Jacob, this is not the time for that," Wilson protested.

"If she's constantly expecting a shot in the back, we're less likely to get out of here alive. We need to work as a team," Jacob replied forcefully. He turned back to Shepard, whose hands were clenched into anxious fists.

"Fine," Wilson said coolly. "If the boss gets pissed, it's _your_ ass."

Jacob cleared his throat before looking back at Shepard. "The Lazarus Project, the program that rebuilt you . . . it's funded and controlled by Cerberus."

Shepard let out an awkward bark of laughter, eliciting a confused look from Jacob. She collected herself as best she could, but _of course_ it was Cerberus. _Really need to work on that nervous laughter tic_ , she mused. _Still, just my luck to be saved from certain death only to be taken captive by a group of goddamn terrorists_.

"I remember running into Cerberus while tracking Saren. Pro-human radicals," she said, looking at Jacob with raised eyebrows.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, sighing. "That's what the Alliance wants you to believe," he began. "There's more to it than that. The Alliance abandoned you and left you for dead. Cerberus recovered your body and spent a fortune to bring you back."

Shepard shook her head in disbelief. All of this talk about Cerberus and her _body_ was getting to be a little much. "Look, I'd be suspicious too," Jacob said. He walked over to Shepard with a sympathetic frown. "But right now, we have to work together. I just thought . . . you deserved to know the truth."

Shepard offered him the tiniest hint at a forced smile in response. "Once we're off station," he went on, "I'll take you to the Illusive Man. He can explain everything. I promise."

Jacob was trying to be comforting, but he'd lost Shepard at "Illusive Man." _The Illusive Man? You've got to me kidding me. That sounds like a cartoon supervillain_. She gave Jacob an incredulous look.

"Illusive Man, huh? Is he in charge of all this?"

"Yes," Wilson piped up from behind Jacob. "And that's not his real name, of course. It was the codename the Alliance used for him and it just kind of stuck."

 _Wow. A Cerberus big wig, archenemy of the Alliance with a_ codename, _and he rebuilt me like Frankenstein. This day just keeps getting better._ "I don't care what you say," Shepard said simply. "I'll never work with Cerberus." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She didn't like her odds when it came to defying a powerful figure like this Illusive Man. He'd spent billions on her—there had to be a reason why.

"You can tell it to the boss after we've saved our butts," Jacob said. "We're almost to the shuttles." Shepard made no reply as she proceeded into the next room, readying her weapon.

The three of them made their way through the last couple of corridors, taking out the remaining mechs on their way without much difficulty. As they prepared to open the doors to the shuttle bay, Wilson eagerly took point, punching in the key code to open the door. "Just through here," he said as the doors opened with a swish.

Shepard exhaled in surprise to see a tall, stunning woman in a rather impractical white Cerberus uniform and high-heeled boots. Miranda stood with her weapon drawn in a menacing posture, her handgun inches from Wilson's shocked face.

"Miranda," he breathed. "You were . . . "

"Dead?" she finished with a sardonic tilt of her head. Before Wilson could respond Miranda pulled the trigger, blowing his head to bits in a gruesome display. She didn't even flinch as she looked down at Wilson's corpse with loathing.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Jacob asked angrily. He jogged forward and then looked down at Wilson with equal parts disgust and dismay.

"My job," Miranda answered calmly. "Wilson betrayed us all." Jacob looked doubtful while Shepard regarded Miranda from a short distance, trying to keep the alarm from her eyes. She had been suspicious of Wilson from the first, but Miranda's quick and callous act of dispensing with her partner was disturbing.

"Even if you're sure, did he deserve that welcome?" Shepard asked, raising her own weapon on Miranda.

Miranda was unaffected. "He sabotaged my systems, killed my staff, and would have killed us. So, yes." Her confident demeanor should have reassured Shepard of her honesty, but Miranda's casual reaction to just having killed a man in cold blood was incredibly odd.

"You sure about that, Miranda?" Jacob asked. "We've known Wilson for years. What if you're wrong?" Shepard waited for Miranda's answer eagerly, refusing to lower her weapon despite the fact that Miranda was determinedly ignoring her threatening posture.

"I'm never wrong, Jacob. I thought you'd have learned that by now." She shrugged. Shepard's mouth was agape. Who _was_ this woman?

"You should have brought him in alive to see what he knew at least," Shepard said. Miranda turned to her finally. "It was too dangerous. After all the time and money I've put in, I couldn't risk him killing you."

Jacob scoffed. "Do you really think Wilson is capable of that?"

Miranda looked down, stepping delicately back from the spreading pool of Wilson's blood. "Not anymore."

Shepard lowered her weapon, realizing that whatever her reservations about the situation, Miranda was not to be trifled with. "Okay. What's our next step?" she asked.

"When we get out of here, my boss wants to talk to you."

"Your boss. You mean the Illusive Man. I know you're Cerberus."

"Ah, Jacob," Miranda said, grinning at him through clenched teeth. "I should have known your conscience would get the better of you."

"Lying to the commander isn't the way to get her to join our cause," Jacob said defensively.

"Well then," Miranda began. "Now that we're getting everything out in the open, Shepard, is there anything else you'd like to know before we go?"

Shepard was happy to oblige her with questions. "It's a little convenient that you should up here just as the fight is all over, don't you think? Where were you during all of this?"

"You mean besides trying to save you," Miranda fired back. "Wilson sent an army of mechs to try and stop me. I took them out and got here as soon as I could. Probably a little too soon if you ask Wilson."

"Is there anyone else on this station?" Shepard asked, reluctant to leave others behind, even if they _were_ Cerberus.

"This is the evac area," Miranda announced. "If they aren't here, they're not coming. And the only one here worth saving is you. Everyone else is expendable." Shepard opened her mouth to argue, but Jacob came to Miranda's defense.

"Miranda's right. We all knew the risks when we signed up for this. Without you, there's no point."

Shepard sighed in resignation. "What's our destination?" she asked, looking at the shuttle behind Miranda.

"Another Cerberus facility. The Illusive Man will meet with you there," Miranda replied.

"I still don't trust you," Shepard said uncertainly. "What if I refuse?"

"This is the only shuttle out of here. If you want to stay behind with the mechs, be my guest." Miranda's eyes met Shepard's with a look that dared another challenge.

"What does Cerberus want with me?" Shepard asked defiantly. She knew she was running out of time before she would have to leave with these people, but she wasn't used to giving in so easily.

"You'll have to ask the Illusive Man. He poured virtually unlimited resources into Lazarus. He obviously has a plan for you, but we won't know what that is until we get to him." Shepard didn't much care for this strong-willed, arrogant, and apparently impulsive woman. But she knew she didn't have a choice, especially if she wanted answers. She needed a way to escape, and she needed to know who brought her here. She hoped, too, that they could shed some light on the identity of her attackers. Whoever had destroyed the Normandy that day had taken two years of Shepard's life away. While she worried about trusting Cerberus, even temporarily, she told herself that if nothing else, Jacob seemed benign enough. If he trusted Miranda, she would have to do the same for the time being.

"I've had enough of this station to last a lifetime," she said, finally, uncrossing her arms and stepping forward to follow Miranda into the shuttle.

"Or two, in your case," Miranda responded with a grin. "Come on."


	5. The Eulogy

Inside the shuttle, Shepard stared out the window at the serenity of space, trying to ignore the pregnant silence that hung between the three of them. Jacob was gazing out of the opposite window, but Miranda was staring unabashedly at Shepard. _Admiring your work?_ Shepard thought uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes.

Miranda broke the silence first. “Before you meet with the Illusive Man, we need to ask you a few questions to evaluate your condition,” she said.

“Oh come on, Miranda,” Jacob interjected, his voice tinged with frustration. “More tests? Shepard took down those mechs without any trouble. That _has_ to be good enough.”

“It’s been two years since the attack on the Normandy,” Miranda said matter-of-factly. “The Illusive Man needs to know that Shepard’s personality and memories are intact. Ask the questions. The sooner we start, the sooner this can be over. Start with personal history.”

Jacob sighed, defeated. “Okay. Shepard, records show that you were the sole survivor of the batarian attack of the human colony of Mindoir. Do you remember that?”

 “It was painful,” she reflected. “I lost a lot of people I loved. Going through something like that can change you. It can break you, if you let it. I didn’t.”

“Right,” Jacob said. She could tell that there was more, and that he didn’t want to say it. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “But then you were part of a squadron that was attacked by a thresher maw on Akuze. You were the only survivor.”

“Fifty marines lost their lives that day. Great men and women. I barely made it out,” Shepard said solemnly. She didn’t like the nature of these questions. It was like they were _trying_ to rattle her emotionally.

“Alright, something more recent now,” Miranda said, moving on without acknowledging the painful subject at hand. “On Virmire when you were pursuing Saren. One of your squadmates was lost that day.”

“Ashley Williams, another Alliance marine,” Jacob added. “It was your call. Why did you leave her behind?”

Shepard blinked, surprised. They were really digging deep here. “I left a friend to die that day,” she said slowly. “I didn’t do it casually. I had to save as many people as possible.” _Liar_ , a cruel voice in the back of her mind said maliciously. _You saved the man you loved and left a comrade to die without a second thought_. Shepard shook her head, trying to quiet the destructive thoughts. Ashley’s death had burdened her conscience for so long, and she would never forget it. But it served no one to continue to berate herself for it. Besides, Kaidan was hardly her lover now. She wanted so badly to ask Miranda where he was, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to get too chummy with Cerberus, and she definitely didn’t want to involve Kaidan if they were up to no good.

Miranda and Jacob were looking at her expectantly. Shepard cleared her throat uncertainly before continuing. “Ashley gave her life to save the rest of us that day. Without her, we could not have defeated Saren. She died a hero,” she finished, sitting back in her seat and averting her eyes from Miranda’s scrutiny.

“I understand, Commander. And I wasn’t judging your decision. Everyone at Cerberus knows that that cloning facility had to be destroyed.” Shepard smiled at Jacob’s comforting words, surprised that he was offering support when apparently he should have been evaluating her like a lab rat.

Miranda ignored Jacob’s interruption and continued the line of questioning. “Shepard, think back to the Citadel. After the Council was lost and you killed Sovereign, what happened next?”

“David Anderson was named the first human Councilor,” Shepard replied confidently, suddenly wishing her kindly old friend was with her now.

“Yes, though I hear he preferred the military life,” Miranda observed.

“But it’s good that the human councilor won’t put politics before defense,” Jacob offered.

Miranda nodded before turning back to Shepard. “Your memory seems solid, but there are other tests we really should run.”

“Enough, Miranda,” Jacob said suddenly, surprising them all. “Her memories are there and I can vouch for her combat skills personally.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Miranda said grudgingly. “The Illusive Man will have to accept our little field test, I suppose. Shepard, is there anything else you’d like to discuss before you meet with him?”

Shepard nodded. She was nervous to discuss it, but she was absolutely burning with questions about the others. “My squad and crew . . .” she began, not sure what to say. “I am having trouble with the whole ‘two years’ thing. Do you have any idea where they’ve all gone?”

“I doubt that the Illusive Man’s first priority will be a reunion, but you can ask _him_ what he knows when you meet. Still, for now you should focus on the job at hand. The whereabouts of your surviving squad and crew are not really my concern. But I can tell you that the last time I saw _most_ of your people was your funeral.” Miranda’s demeanor was jarring. Shepard had a hard time responding after hearing that she’d had a _funeral_ , though she supposed it was to be expected—she had died.

“It was a moving memorial,” Jacob said gently, clearly trying to repair the damage Miranda had done to the general mood.

“Here,” Miranda said suddenly, as though struck with an ingenious plan. “You can watch the vid.”

“The vid?” Shepard asked, shocked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to watch her own funeral. It was all so morbid, and it felt like she was invading the privacy of the mourners. But Miranda was already accessing a vid on a laptop that she produced from under her seat. Shepard knew that she would likely see this footage anyway, and Miranda was clearly showing her this to try and gauge her reaction—another test. Shepard decided that she was going to pass it, damnit. Miranda offered her the laptop, along with a headset, and as Shepard settled the earphones onto her head and arranged the laptop in her lap, her uncertainty disappeared.

The vid was paused on the first frame. In it, she saw her dearest friends dressed in dark mourning garb, seated next to one another on a raised platform in front of a large crowd. They were assembled on what appeared to be the Citadel’s Presidium. Liara held a delicate handkerchief to her nose and Tali rested a hand comfortingly on the asari’s back. Garrus looked serious and uncharacteristically reverent on the other side of the platform next to Wrex, who stared listlessly at the ground. Joker and Anderson were there too, the former bent forward with his face in his hands, looking strange without his trademark ball cap; the latter looking stately and solemn as ever, though sadness deepened the lines on his face. 

All of them sat before a large photo of Shepard that towered over the whole grim congregation. It was a candid shot of her, youthful and happy, garbed in her old Alliance fatigues. Although they had been cut out, Shepard realized with a pang that on either side of her, the original photo had featured Kaidan and Ashley during their first visit to the Citadel as a team.

But it was the man at the podium in the center of the platform that caught Shepard’s eye and knocked the breath right out of her. Kaidan looked thin and pale, his eyes swollen and discolored from weeping. Even so, he still looked as handsome as ever in his dark dress uniform. “Lieutenant Alenko gave quite the touching eulogy,” Miranda remarked casually. “Well, he tried to, anyway.”

The pain on Kaidan’s face brought stinging tears to Shepard’s eyes. She knew that Miranda was watching her closely, but she didn’t care. She gently touched his image on the screen, wishing she could reach through time and space and comfort him, tell him that she was alive and safe—for now. She swallowed the hard lump that was forming in her throat, and checking that the headphones were functioning properly to at least give herself a modicum of privacy, she started playing the vid.

***

_Kaidan cleared his throat nervously and looked around at the huge crowd gathered to honor Shepard. He ran his palm along his speech that he’d unfolded on the podium in an attempt to flatten the wrinkles out of the paper. He then dropped both hands to his sides and looked up at the audience. In truth, he had the speech memorized. It was there as a precaution in case he choked. He took a deep breath, and began._

_“Commander Shepard was without a doubt the bravest person I’ve ever known. She dedicated the better part of her life to serving the Alliance with honor, and her deeds have made this entire galaxy a better place. She was a credit to humanity, but it was just as important to her to foster peaceful relations with all alien races, even those responsible for the massacre of her home colony, showing her accepting and progressive worldview.”_

So far, so good, _Kaidan thought. His voice was strong and confident as it projected across the gathering. But something wasn’t right. Kaidan’s Anderson-approved speech felt dry and impersonal. The things he was saying about Shepard were true, but they weren’t really what made Shepard,_ Shepard.

Fuck it, _he decided._ I’m going off script.

_“Those things are what made Shepard a good soldier,” he said, pausing to think. “But Shepard was also a good friend, and just a damned good person. Anyone in her crew would tell you the same. She treated the lowliest engineer’s assistant with the same respect as a member of the Council. She took the time to get to know everyone she ever met, and she had a way of making you feel special when she talked to you.” Kaidan felt a lump starting to rise in his throat, but he forced it down and went on._

_“She made us feel special because every friend she had meant a lot of her. She lost  . . . everything when she was young. That can make a person bitter. That can do ugly things to a person. But not Shepard. It somehow made her even_ better _.” His voice broke on the last word and Kaidan knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he didn’t care. She deserved to be honored._

_“Since she had lost so much, she cherished what she did have even more. She always made sure that we—her crew—knew how much we meant to her, what a good job we’d done. She was unconditionally kind, compassionate, and generous that way. And she was always smiling, even when she was going through things that most of us would never have been able to handle._

_“And she was so full of life. She loved to shoot and she loved to drink, and she could hold her liquor like you wouldn’t believe for someone so small. She . . . she liked music, and_ dancing _, even though she was awful at it.” Tears were running down Kaidan’s face now, and he was sniffling loudly into the mic. He could see several others crying in the crowd and hear Liara sobbing behind him. It didn’t help. He was starting to lose it._

 _“Yeah, she was awful at it. But she looked so-so_ beautiful _doing it, ya know? She was beautiful without even trying. Even though her nail polish was always chipped, even when her hair was a mess. She had so much life left to live. And how caring she was . . . she would have made a phenomenal wife, a loving mom one day. But it all got taken from her.” He paused, trying to collect himself, to stifle the tears that were flowing freely down his face. He looked up to see the Council in places of honor in the front row, and his ears burned with rage._

_Not taking his eyes off of the Council, Kaidan continued. “She deserved BETTER, damnit!” Kaidan was yelling now. The unfairness of it all was creeping up on him again. He could see Anderson standing from his seat to the left out of his periphery. He ignored him and went on._

_“She deserved to have a life. She gave everything she had to save all of your lives. And for what? The Council never listened to her. She survived fighting a goddamned_ Reaper _. Then she died out on a petty hunting mission. She died because all of you sent her out to do busy work to keep her from asking questions!” he snarled out the last sentence, glaring daggers at the Council. All of them were determinedly refusing to meet his gaze. Anderson appeared behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder._

_“That’s enough, Alenko,” he said gently. But Kaidan shrugged him off. He wouldn’t end the speech that way._

_He lowered his voice and looked up at the rest of the audience. “What you need to know about Shepard is that every single day, she put the needs and happiness of others before her own. She may never get the chance to reap the benefits of the work she’s done, but she deserves to be remembered. I wish she could see how many of you came here to honor her,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from shaking._

_“She would have been embarrassed at first, to see this many people here for her. But then she would have been happy to know that she was appreciated. And she would_ smile. _” Kaidan choked back a sob. He felt weak suddenly. Dizzy with grief._

 _“I would give_ anything _to see her smile just one more time, or for the chance to talk to her. To-to tell her. Tell her I-I-” He finally broke down, his legs crumpling beneath him as he shook with sobs. He didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed, though no one was laughing. No one was mocking him. Kaidan had brought most of the gathering to tears with his heartfelt eulogy. Even the Council had the decency to look moved as Anderson and Garrus guided their hysterical friend off the stage._

_***_

As the vid ended, Shepard tore her eyes from the screen to see that Miranda was studying her curiously while Jacob was staring determinedly out the window again. She could feel tears staining her cheeks, but she’d been too engrossed in what she was watching to make a sound. Pleased that she hadn’t given Miranda the satisfaction of witnessing a total breakdown, she discreetly dabbed her tears away, cleared her throat, and forbade herself to cry. She could break down later, in private. Not in front of Cerberus.

It was cruel of Miranda to show her something so personal, especially in the company of her and Jacob, but Shepard was glad she’d seen it. It dispelled any doubts she may have had about that fact that she really had been . . . dead. But the sight of Kaidan in so much agony was the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever seen.

His words about her had touched her soul. No one had ever spoken about her that way before. She felt then more than ever that she loved him. She wanted nothing so much as to find Kaidan, to comfort him in the knowledge that she wasn’t gone and to tell him how she felt. But she had to remind herself that two years had gone by. Kaidan had, in all likelihood, moved on. Seeing her again might only bring him more pain. And in any case, Shepard didn’t have the luxury of focusing on Kaidan at the moment. She needed answers, and she had to play nice with Cerberus to get them. So she closed the laptop and passed the rest of the shuttle ride with her two new companions in an uncomfortable silence.

Shepard eyed their destination through the small shuttle window, in awe at the sight of yet another enormous space station. It was mind-bogglingly long, with one tall tower rising in the middle, and a long, curved beam running under the bottom that glowed vividly with blue light. All along the length of the station, lights from windows and machinery blinked at her. But it wasn’t a welcoming image. Shepard was nervous at the prospect of meeting the man who commanded not one but _several_ dauntingly large space stations, and _Cerberus_ stations at that. Who was this Illusive Man, and why hadn’t she heard of him before?

When the shuttle docked, Jacob gave Shepard a quick, reassuring smile before striding off on some errand. She looked around at the massive docking bay, trying to take stock of the seemingly countless aircraft inside, at the numerous ranks of Cerberus officers scurrying about, working. Miranda just gave her an exasperated look, her hands resting on her shapely hips. “Well, _come on_ ,” she said to Shepard impatiently. Miranda’s accented voice sounded as if the woman was born to give orders. Shepard didn’t like that one bit, but she nodded brusquely at Miranda as she followed her through the clean, well-lit halls and sliding doorways of the Cerberus station.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity. Shepard tried to look at Miranda out of the corner of her eye as they went along, to get a read on the enigmatic and authoritative woman. Miranda seemed to feel Shepard’s stare and she turned to meet her gaze, her intensely blue eyes boring into Shepard’s. Shepard defiantly kept her eyes locked on Miranda’s, but the woman’s face didn’t register even a shred of friendliness. “You know,” Shepard observed, “If we’re going to be working together, we’re eventually going to have to get along.”

Miranda scoffed at that, her smooth ivory skin crinkling between her brows as she grimaced at Shepard. “I can’t imagine why you’d think that efficient work requires that sort of sugarcoated facade.” _Boy, this is off to a great start_ , Shepard thought darkly, turning away from Miranda and hoping desperately that they would reach wherever it was they were headed soon.

Miranda finally stopped at a door that required her handprint for security clearance. She removed one of her snug, shiny black gloves and placed her hand on the pad until it turned green and beeped, signifying that they were cleared to enter. Shepard stepped through the doorway first, into a nondescript room that held an assortment of computers and storage cabinets, with a couple of desks against the walls. It boasted one large window offering a nice view of the stars. She noticed that at the rear of the room there was another set of sliding doors, and guessed that it was through them that she might meet this aptly named Illusive Man at last.

“If you wish, you can peruse the armor stock in this room for something better suited to your needs than what was available on the last station in a pinch. And I suggest you change before you meet with the Illusive Man. He is waiting for you just through there,” Miranda announced, gesturing to the doors that Shepard was looking at moments before.

“Thanks,” Shepard replied, stepping toward one of the cabinets against the wall. Inside, she was happy to see a familiar assortment of N7 gear. She ran her fingers appreciatively over a set of streamlined and lightweight armor that she’d never seen before. The pieces were all made of a carbon fiber-like material, but stronger. Most of it was a simple matte black, but the iconic N7 stripe down the shoulder and arm stood out in a shiny red finish. She pulled the set of armor out of the cabinet and laid it down on a nearby table, also selecting a set of casual fatigues that looked close to her size. She noted with distaste that they bore the Cerberus colors and insignia, but there weren’t any uniforms without the logo.

She was about to change, but she felt Miranda’s eyes on her, watching her every move as if analyzing her choices. “Um, a little privacy, please?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Miranda.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Miranda huffed indignantly. “Modesty is not something I expected from the bold Commander Shepard. And it’s not like I haven’t seen what you’ve got under there.” Miranda gave Shepard a sardonic smile, but Shepard was pleased to note that the woman turned away, stepping to a nearby computer and leaving her some degree of privacy. It wasn’t that Shepard was shy, quite the contrary. But she didn’t want to the give the bossy Cerberus officer the satisfaction of having her obediently comply with her every wish, didn’t want to accept Miranda’s rather rude scrutiny.

Stepping into the Cerberus fatigues felt oddly traitorous. She still couldn’t believe that she was in this situation, on a Cerberus station, cooperating with Cerberus people, wearing a Cerberus uniform. The clothing fit well enough, but it didn’t feel right, wasn’t the same as the traditional Alliance fatigues she was used to. Her old uniform had felt homey and familiar, even if it hadn’t exactly been flattering. Shepard’s mind strayed unhelpfully to memories of how Kaidan had somehow miraculously made Alliance fatigues look unbelievably sexy. How many times had she lost her breath watching him work in that same old uniform? She wondered in spite of herself what he was doing at that moment, and if he still thought about her from time to time, if he still looked so irresistible in his uniform . . . Shepard sighed and shook her head. She needed to focus on her present situation, however unpleasant it might be.

After she finished dressing, she regarded her reflection for the first time in a nearby mirror. She was equal parts surprised and relieved to find that she looked, well . . . like herself. She noticed some unsightly scars here and there, even some marring the olive skin of her once clear face. But they weren’t deep. If what Jacob had told her was true, she certainly owed a lot to Miranda for piecing her back together so well. Her same green eyes stared back at her in the glass. Her same, thick, black hair, framed her face and hung down to about her shoulders. It was drastically shorter than she was used to, but it was _her hair_. She noticed that her piercings, two in each ear, were still intact, although she wasn’t wearing any earrings.

She was still marveling at how Miranda had apparently resurrected her from the dead with all of her original parts when the woman appeared behind her in the mirror. “When you’re quite done checking yourself out, Narcissus, the Illusive Man is still waiting,” she announced.

“Right,” Shepard said through gritted teeth. She knew Miranda’s joking insult was meant to grate at her, but she wasn’t going to show it. She was seeing herself for the first time after being dead for two years. Wasn’t she allowed to be curious? She stalked off toward the doors, eager to leave Miranda’s company, but trying to compose herself before this important meeting.

As she stepped through the doors, she descended a small flight of stairs before walking into an empty room. Confused, Shepard stepped forward a few paces before coming to a stop on a round platform. It instantly registered her presence, and she fidgeted uncomfortably as some sort of scanner rose in a circle around her, engulfing her in light. She blinked for a few moments, looking around to notice that suddenly the empty room had vanished, replaced by another.

She was standing on well-polished, almost reflective tile floor. The room was nearly empty, but what really grabbed her attention was the sight of an enormous, nearby, dying star. She could see the bright lights and colors of a gargantuan star clearly through dramatic, floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows at the back of the room. She tore her eyes from the captivating sight to find an older, well-groomed man in a tailored suit, seated in the center of the room in a sleek metal chair. He was enjoying a cigarette, and the smoke wafted around him in lazy clouds, obscuring him in an ethereal haze.

While all of it was at once vivid, colorful, and disorienting, Shepard was dimly aware that it was just a projection—that she was really back in the plain room on the station with Miranda, and was only meeting with the Illusive Man via a holo. She instantly felt insulted. After everything that she’d been through, he couldn’t even meet with her in person?

The Illusive Man spoke first, his voice surprisingly soft, but laced with a menacing edge. “Commander Shepard,” he said simply, not bothering to get up. He took a drag from his cigarette and looked up at Shepard expectantly.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him, incensed at the nature of their meeting. “Illusive Man. I thought we’d be meeting face-to-face.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “It’s for safety—a not uncommon precaution for people like us. People who know what you and I know.”

Shepard was confused. What knowledge could they possibly share? The fact that he’d ordered his minions to bring her back from the dead? “From what I know,” she began carefully, “you spent billions to bring me back. Why?”

“For the defense and preservation of humanity.” _Sounds about right for Cerberus_ , Shepard mused. The notoriously pro-human organization was infamous for their anti-alien activities, all in the name of humanity’s survival. “I didn’t spend this time and money to bring you back just so you could go back to serving as a soldier, Shepard. I need your help because humanity is facing the greatest threat of its entire existence.”

Shepard knew thought she knew what he was referring to, and she didn’t like it one bit. “The Reapers,” she responded simply.

“Glad to see your memory is still sharp,” the Illusive Man noted with satisfaction. Shepard made no response, and he attempted pleasantries to ease the tension. “How are you doing with your recovery?” he asked casually, idly tapping his cigarette over an ashtray situated on a side table to his left.

“You have to earn the right to ask me personal questions,” she snapped. She didn’t like the liberties this man had taken with her life and she cared even less for the prematurely familiar tone he was taking with her now. They were most decidedly _not_ friends.

“Cerberus isn’t as evil as you believe,” he said, unperturbed. “Believe it or not, Shepard, you and I are on the same side. We just have different . . . methods.”

Shepard was unconvinced, and growing tired of his easy demeanor and mincing words. She was winded from her journey and ready to get some real answers. “Get to the point. What are the Reapers doing that compelled you to bring me back?” She uncrossed her arms and took a restless step toward the image of the Illusive Man.

“We’re at war,” he said simply. Shepard swallowed nervously but kept her expression even. The Illusive Man stood up and walked forward. If they had been physically in the same room, Shepard realized she would have been engulfed in the cloud of smoke that seemed to perpetually surround him. “No one wants to admit it, but humanity is under attack.” His tone made her feel sick. It sounded like he was telling the truth, and it was a hard truth to hear.

“While you’ve been sleeping,” he went on, “entire colonies have been disappearing. Human colonies. We believe it’s someone working for the Reapers, just as Saren and the geth aided Sovereign.” That struck a chord, and Shepard looked away in an attempt to keep her reaction from the Illusive Man. As a former colonist, she knew how isolating it could feel to be so far from the more developed systems, from the Citadel. It didn’t sound so improbable that the Alliance could be reluctant to believe or investigate reports of foul play so far from their usual turf. It didn’t help that her claims of a Reaper threat after the battle with Sovereign had fallen on deaf ears in the Alliance and the Council. As if reading her thoughts, the Illusive Man continued. “You’ve seen it yourself. You’ve bested all of them. That’s one of the reasons we’ve chosen you.”

Shepard had to admit that what he was saying didn’t sound all that farfetched, but she was hesitant to listen to Cerberus. “Fighting a war doesn’t sound like Cerberus work. Why are you involved?”

“Again,” he said patiently, “We are committed to the advancement and preservation of humanity. If the Reapers are trying to wipe us out, we have to stop them now. Cerberus is better equipped to do this than the bickering politicians or the Alliance, who refuse to act. If we wait for them to see the threat, there won’t be any more human colonies to save.”

That sounded legitimate, but the attacks themselves still didn’t seem to make sense. “Sovereign was trying to harvest all life,” Shepard reminded him. “Why would the Reapers target a few human colonies?”

“I don’t know why they are targeting humanity; maybe you got their attention when you killed one of them. But hundreds of thousands of colonists have been wiped out. I’d say that fits the definition of ‘harvesting.’” Hundreds of thousands of colonists . . . if he was lying about that, it would be easy for her to find out. So that meant that he was likely in earnest.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, “but then why _isn’t_ the Alliance stepping in?”

“The attacks are random and in remote locations. I guess they’re stretched thin for now and hesitant to acknowledge a connection between the attacks.”

“Alright, so you want to do something about it. But why me? Why did you bring me back for this?” Shepard needed to know, but she was loathe to find out. She was grateful to be alive, but was not looking forward to being beholden to the leader of a terrorist organization in return.

“You’re unique,” he said without hesitation, “not just in your abilities or what you’ve experienced, but what you represent. You stood for humanity in a key moment. That makes you more than a soldier. You’re a symbol. And I don’t know if the Reapers understand fear, but you killed one—that’s no small feat. They have to respect that.”

Shepard didn’t like flattery and was starting to like this Illusive Man even less, but she realized that the interview was coming to an end and that she was going to need to play ball with this man for the time being. What other choice did she have? “Okay,” she assented. “If this is about taking down the Reapers, I’m game. Where do we go from here?”

The Illusive Man didn’t bother looking relieved. He merely chuckled and turned his back on Shepard, gazing at the dying star through the window as he took a thoughtful drag from his cigarette. “Miranda thought you would resist,” he offered in reply. “She isn’t often wrong . . . about anything.”

Shepard sighed in exasperation, hoping he would take the hint and answer her question. He turned back to her slowly. “I have a shuttle waiting to take you to Freedom’s Progress. It’s the latest colony to be abducted. Miranda and Jacob will brief you, and also accompany you there.”

Shepard shook her head in frustration. Miranda was someone she didn’t trust or understand. “You expect me to trust them?” she asked. “Miranda just killed one of your people in cold blood right in front of me, and Jacob . . . he’s just a gun for hire.”

“Wilson was one of my best agents,” the Illusive Man admitted, sitting back down with a sigh. He rubbed his hand across his forehead with a pained expression. “But he was a traitor. Miranda did exactly what I expected of her in protecting you and getting you here at all costs. She’s saved your life in more ways than one. Jacob’s a solider, but he’s one of the best. He’s never fully trusted me. You might like that about him,” he added darkly. “But he’s always been honest and up front about it, and about everything else. You’ll be just fine with the two of them . . . for now.”

 _How ominous_. Shepard wanted to help fight the Reapers in any way she could. But the thought of doing it with Cerberus left a bad taste in her mouth. She found that she was asking herself again if she really had a choice. “Am I a volunteer for this mission, or am I _being_ volunteered?”

“You always have a choice, Shepard,” he replied evenly. “If you don’t find the evidence we’re looking for, we can part ways. But first, go to Freedom’s Progress. Find any clues you can. Who’s abducting the colonies? Do they have any connection to the Reapers? I brought you back. It’s up to you to do the rest.” Shepard had more questions. So many more. She wanted to know about her old crew, if they were safe and where they were. She wanted to ask if she could work with them on this task. But the Illusive Man was done talking. He pressed a button on a control panel situated on a side table next to his chair, and the image of his office, projected over Shepard by the beam surrounding her, descended quickly, vanishing at last and leaving her alone in the quiet of the empty room.  

Shepard exited to meet with Miranda, who was appraising her with a look of mild surprise. “The Illusive Man is very impressed with you,” she said. “I’m eager to see if you can live up to his expectations on this mission.”

Shepard didn’t care for her tone. “Look, Miranda, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. But when we get down there, I need to know that you’re going to follow my lead, that you aren’t going to question my decisions.”

“I know who I report to,” Miranda said coldly, feigning concentration on something she was working on and refusing to look Shepard in the eye. “If you don’t betray Cerberus, I’ll follow your orders.”

“For someone who spent two years putting me back together, you don’t seem real fond of me,” Shepard observed.

“I have the utmost respect for your abilities,” Miranda returned, looking up from her computer at last. “It’s your motives that concern me. I believe in what Cerberus stands for.” Shepard was surprised to note that Miranda seemed _passionate,_ about her work with Ceberus, of all things. “Only time will tell if you’ll be an asset to our cause or a liability.”

“You aren’t very easy to talk to,” Shepard said matter-of-factly, turning away from Miranda.

“We’ve got a job to do. We can talk about it, or we can do it.” Shepard nodded and proceeded to gather her newly acquired armor from the table in the rear of the room. As she was about to change, she noticed that she and Miranda weren’t alone.

Shepard strode over to speak with Jacob, who had arrived at some point during her conversation with the Illusive Man. He was leaning casually against the wall next to the window and looking out contemplatively. “I’m glad the Illusive Man convinced you to join us,” he said, turning to her with a smile.

“I wouldn’t call it joining you,” Shepard said defensively. “Cerberus gave me my life back. I figure that’s worth a shot. Just one chance.”  

“You’re still not convinced. Do you trust _me_ , Commander?”

Shepard thought about it for a moment, and remembered the Illusive Man’s remarks about Jacob refusing to trust him and being an upright soldier.

“For now,” she said cautiously, pleased with the relieved expression that overtook Jacob’s friendly features. “Don’t give me a reason not to,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jacob replied easily.

Shepard eyed him. He looked honest enough, and strong. She knew from their trials on the last station that he was a good soldier. She also remembered him saying he was Alliance trained. “Didn’t you say you used to be in the Alliance?”

“Yes, I served for five years. I was part of the Corsairs, a secret initiative meant to utilize independent starships for missions that fell out of official jurisdiction. We were meant to be free from restrictions, to really be able to do meaningful work. But there were still too many regulations, too much red tape. I got tired of never actually making a difference.”

She knew that the Alliance had its pitfalls, but she didn’t like the way that Jacob made it sound as if the whole organization were meaningless. She had done good work in the Alliance, and so had countless others . . . Anderson, Ashley, Kaidan. _Kaidan_. She hoped that he was still with the Alliance so that she could try to track him down when this was all over. “So the Alliance wasn’t for you,” she said, looking at Jacob. “That’s why you joined Cerberus?”

“Yes. I thought things would change after the attack on the Citadel because humanity was welcomed into the Council. But nothing changed; same bullshit, different leaders. Cerberus is different,” he insisted. “When colonies go missing, we don’t write a report about it and create a commission to figure out what to do. We go out and find out what happened.”

 _No, you spend two years working to rebuild one single person before you do anything about it. Clearly, more efficient than the Alliance method_. Shepard wanted to argue with Jacob, but he seemed nice enough. She plastered on her best media-ready smile for him.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She returned to the table and picked up her armor, hoping to find a private place to change. The N7 gear was familiar and she knew she’d feel better with it on. Whatever they would face on Freedom’s Progress, she reminded herself that this was what she was born for, what she was good at. And no matter what, every step she took to placate the Illusive Man was a step against the Reapers as well as a step toward her freedom and the chance to seek out the people she loved.


	6. Someone You Can Trust

After a tense shuttle ride to the planet’s surface, Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob began quietly investigating the ghost town of Freedom’s Progress. A light dusting of snow was falling on the deserted colony, the night unnervingly quiet and serene under the circumstances. “Be on the lookout for any survivors. We’re here to do a job, but let’s try to avoid any collateral damage. Got it?”

Miranda and Jacob both nodded in agreement. Shepard took point as they continued forward, weapons drawn. The colony was utterly deserted. There weren’t any bodies, there was nothing to indicate the tragedy that had occurred. The settlement itself reminded Shepard vaguely of some of the less developed parts of Mindoir—the same hastily-built complexes and neighborhoods, the buildings modern and minimalist. The complete silence gave her more of a chill than the snowy night air.

Without warning, the silence was broken as they exited an abandoned apartment. A bullet whizzed by Shepard’s head, missing her by mere inches. “Take cover!” she said in a frantic whisper, hoping to avoid drawing more hostiles to their location. She ducked behind a nearby fence and checked to see that Miranda and Jacob were out of the line of fire as well.

Squinting through the snow flurries in the air, she tried to find the source of the shot. In the distance she could barely make out movement. She signaled the others to the direction of the shooter, and just in time. Without warning, a dog-like mech on all fours exploded out of the darkness and was upon them before Shepard could get a shot off. She leapt out of cover and backward just as it reached her, and fumbled for her shotgun. Trained as a vanguard in her youth, shotguns were Shepard’s personal specialty, and she was elated when Miranda had outfitted her with a powerful Cerberus model on the shuttle earlier that evening. She quickly levelled the gun at the advancing mech and fired. Her aim was true, and the mech was destroyed in a dramatic display as the shotgun shell obliterated it.

She had no time to celebrate her quick thinking. “Get down,” Miranda exclaimed, as another volley of gunfire came their way. The clumsy dog mech was clearly not responsible for the earlier close-call gunshot, and Shepard looked up to see several advancing mechs not unlike those from the Cerberus station she’d woken up on. She unleashed a biotic Throw, knocking two mechs back, and reveling in the swell of power that made her hair stand on it. Her biotics felt smoother and cleaner than ever before.

When the attacking mechs were all taken out, Shepard regrouped with Miranda and Jacob, noting with satisfaction that neither seemed fazed by the shootout. They were competent fighters. “I don’t think these mechs are the culprits in the case of the missing colonists,” Shepard said.

“They’ve been hacked, just like the ones on the base. They should have recognized us as human. They should never have even attacked,” Jacob announced.

Miranda agreed. “We’re not alone here.”

Shepard shivered involuntarily, and not from the cold. The whole situation was odd. The total lack of bodies or injured survivors was unusual. She remembered learning about a similar story in her Earth history classes as a child, about a sixteenth-century English colony in the Americas that went missing. Roanoke, it was called. Hundreds of years later, people were still talking about it. So why wasn’t anyone doing anything about the missing colonies now? Something wasn’t right.

As they proceeded through the abandoned neighborhood, another wave of hostile mechs appeared. The trio didn’t have much trouble dispensing with them. Shepard was pleased with the biotic abilities of both her companions, but not so much as she was with her _own_. She was still trying to adapt to how strong and sure she felt ever since her revival. Each biotic attack seemed more powerful than the last, and her mastery over her powers felt seamless and natural. She thought with a pang that Kaidan would have been impressed, before quickly reminding herself that Kaidan had probably moved on, that constantly thinking of him was not doing her any favors. She focused instead on the remaining enemies in their vicinity, using a Lift on a nearby mech before shooting it down with a few well-placed pistol shots.

As the last hostile mech fell with a thud, Shepard led the way into the next building, but was shocked to find it occupied, and not by mechs. She raised her weapon at the trio of quarians inside, and Miranda and Jacob followed suit.

“Stop right there!” a male quarian shouted at them, turning his own weapon at the group.

But a female quarian rushed up behind him. She was dressed in a familiar, purple environment suit. “Prazza! You said you’d let me handle this.”

Shepard inhaled sharply. She would have recognized that light, feminine voice with the thick, quarian accent anywhere: Tali Zorah. Tali seemed to recognize her at the same time. “Wait . . . Shepard?”

“I’m not taking any chances with Cerberus operatives,” Prazza protested. Shepard winced. She didn’t like being called a “Cerberus operative” at all.

“Put those weapons down!” Tali insisted. She turned to Shepard, her voice quavering with emotion. “Shepard, is that . . . you’re alive?”

“Yes. It’s  . . . good to see you, Tali. But please have your friends lower their guns.”

Tali obliged immediately. “Prazza!” she shrieked.

Prazza and his companion, another male quarian, begrudgingly lowered his weapon. “Damnit, Tali. This is bullshit! Why would your old commander be working with Cerberus?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a small voice. “But if it’s Shepard . . . I’m sure she has a reason.”

Shepard’s heart soared. After all this time, Tali still had so much faith in her. She wanted to wrap her old friend in a big hug, but she was painfully aware of Miranda and Jacob watching her. So instead, she tried to explain her presence to Tali. “Cerberus rebuilt me. But I’m not taking their orders. We can discuss specifics once I know why you’re here.”

“One of our people was here on pilgrimage,” Tali explained. “His name was Veetor. We’re here to find him.”

“Why would Veetor come to a remote human colony for pilgrimage?” Shepard asked doubtfully.

“Quarians can choose where they go on pilgrimage. Veetor liked the idea of helping a small settlement. He was always nervous in crowds.”

“She means that he was unstable,” Prazza chimed in. “Combine that with damage to his suit’s CO2 scrubbers and an infection from an open-air exposure—he’s likely delirious.”

Tali nodded in agreement. “When he saw us landing, he hid in a warehouse on the far side of the settlement. He must have programmed the mechs to attack us.” That explained the mechs’ hostility, but didn’t help with the missing colonists. But perhaps this Veetor could provide more answers.

“Come with us. We have our own reasons for being here. When we find him, we’d like to ask him some questions.”

“Like hell!” Prazza protested angrily. “I’m not teaming up with Cerberus, and I’m not letting you interrogate Veetor.”

“Neither am I, Prazza,” Tali reassured him with a sigh. “But we need to work together. Shepard, you and your team head to the warehouse straight through the colony. We will go around the side and try to draw off some of the mechs that could come after you.”

“Why are you so against Cerberus?” Shepard asked. She had her own reasons, but the quarians vehement opposition concerned her.

“I can think of a lot of reasons,” Prazza spat. “They attacked our flotilla, for one.”

“That’s not how I would explain it,” Miranda argued, stepping toward Prazza with her hand on her weapon.

Jacob shook his head and interjected. “We can argue about who attacked who later. We have a mission, remember?” Shepard shot Jacob a grateful look. They didn’t have time for petty squabbling.

“He’s right,” she said.

“Agreed,” Tali added with finality. “We need to cooperate if we’re going to get to that warehouse.”

As they split up, Shepard was thankful for Tali’s assistance. As she, Jacob, and Miranda made a beeline for Veetor’s position, Tali periodically warned them about incoming drones and mechs. During a particularly thick wave, Miranda Overloaded a larger mech, while Jacob used Pull to attack another. Shepard charged forward and took down the remaining mechs with her shotgun, blasting them away one by one. The thrill of the fight and the chill night air exhilarated her, but her victorious high was short-lived.

As they came upon the warehouse, they were interrupted by Tali with more warnings. “Shepard, take cover; there’s a heavy mech that Veetor reprogrammed just inside. Some of our own squadron has caught up with you. They might be able to aid in your assault. They are taking their positions now.”

“Roger that. Jacob, Miranda, take cover on either side of these doors. I’ll take point.” As Miranda and Jacob followed her instructions, Shepard took cover behind a low fence and signaled Tali that they were ready. Tali, tech-savvy as ever, hacked the door controls and opened the warehouse.

An enormous heavy mech emerged, easily four times as large as the others they’d fought. It was flanked by a handful of smaller hostiles. Tali’s quarian reinforcements rushed out of cover to attack, and Shepard watched in horror as several were taken out by the powerful mech. It indiscriminately stomped on or fired explosives at the helpless quarians. A few ran to cover, and Shepard noted with relief that Tali was not one of the injured or killed.

“They never stood a chance,” Jacob noted over the comms. And he was right. The mech was heavily armored and packing considerable firepower, and now it trained its mechanically precise aim at Shepard and the others.

“Stay in cover!” she commanded, as a volley of shots came their way. The sound was deafening, and the heavy gunfire made the ground around them erupt in a cloud of dust, obscuring their vision. In the brief break between attacks as the mech reloaded its weaponry, Shepard quietly got into position and struggled to aim her own heavy weapon through the chaos. It was a decent grenade launcher, and she pointed it at the mech with steady, practiced hands. She had two shots—they needed to count. Shepard held her breath and fired off both grenades.

Within seconds, the payoff came as they found their targets, taking down the big mech and the lesser ones standing near it. The explosion was loud, and debris went flying in all directions. Shepard’s ears were ringing and she coughed in the dust and smoke. She stood up slowly, checking for injuries and looking for Miranda and Jacob.

Tali rushed over in alarm, dropping to her knees next to an injured quarian. “Shepard, I’ll tend to the wounded. Go and find Veetor. He’s likely hiding out in a back room.”

Shepard nodded. “Be careful, Tali.” She spotted Jacob and Miranda dusting themselves off behind a stack of fuel barrels nearby.  She signaled for them to follow, and the trio set off through the warehouse, stepping around the rubble from their recent skirmish while looking for Veetor.

Eventually they came to room at the back of the vast warehouse that likely served as an office or control room. Shepard signaled to the others to prepare for whatever laid behind it, and then kicked in the door with a grunt of exertion.

Inside, Veetor sat at a control panel that featured several surveillance screens and dozens of buttons and dials. His back was to them, and he was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even notice their entry. The screens showed footage of various spots around the colony by daylight. The images were blurry but Shepard could just make out the shapes of humans and . . . something else on the screens. She took a few cautious steps into the room, weapon drawn. “Veetor?” she asked gently, remembering Tali and Prazza’s remarks about the quarian’s mental state.

Veetor made no reply, and he didn’t turn around. His hands kept busy at the controls, and he was muttering to himself. “Seekers. Swarms. Stinging. Can’t get me. Mechs will protect.”

“Veetor. My name is Commander Shepard. We need to ask you about what happened here,” Shepard announced, right behind Veetor now. But he continued to disregard her, muttering more about “stingers,” insisting that “they’re all gone.”

Miranda was getting fed up. “I can’t believe we’ve come all this way, and our only witness is a babbling madman,” she remarked, shaking her head in disdain.

“Be patient,” Shepard reassured her, stepping hesitantly closer to Veetor. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he jumped in alarm, yelling. “Veetor. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Veetor turned around in the high-backed chair at last, gasping in shock as he looked at Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob. “You’re . . . you’re human. But how? They took the humans. All of them. Stung them, then they froze. The seekers . . .”

“We weren’t here,” Shepard explained calmly. “Try to tell us what happened.”

Veetor took a deep, shaky breath, the sound amplified by the breather of his environment suit. “They came in an enormous ship,” he began. “First it was the seekers . . . machines, but they were like _bugs_. When they sting, you freeze and can’t move. It’s some kind of venom. Then _they_ come and take you away. They took them _all_ away.”

Shepard looked up at the screens, at the swarms of tiny bug-like machines and bigger, alien shapes. Most chilling of all were the statue-still humans, faces frozen in terror. Jacob appeared at Veetor’s side. “Why weren’t _you_ taken?” he asked with a chill in his voice.

“They didn’t see me. The seekers didn’t find me.”

“How is that possible?” Shepard asked dubiously.

“Maybe his environment suit protected him from their sensors,” Jacob offered.

“Only human colonies have been targeted,” Miranda pointed out solemnly. “Perhaps they are only interested in taking humans.”

Jacob stepped closer to the screens, narrowing his eyes and trying to get a clearer look at the distorted images. “But who are _they_?”

Veetor shivered before zooming in on the image on the main screen in front of them. A large, clearly alien figure with an enormous head, an unnerving number of eyes, and armed with a gun unlike anything Shepard had seen before, was dragging a helpless, immobilized human along.

“Oh my God. It’s . . . the Collectors!” Miranda exclaimed.

“What’s a Collector?” Shepard asked, perplexed.

“They’re a species from somewhere beyond the Omega 4 Relay. Only a few have ever seen one in person,” Jacob replied.

“They usually only work through intermediaries, like slavers or hired mercenaries,” Miranda added. “If they’re working for the Reapers somehow, it could explain the colonies.”

Shepard felt a cold, heavy feeling in her gut. The sinister looking aliens were shaping up to be a bigger threat than she felt ready face.

“We need to find someone who knows more about them,” Shepard said.

“Nobody knows much,” Jacob admitted. “They’re so rare, a lot of people don’t even believe they exist.”

“More importantly,” Miranda added, “we need to know why they are abducting human colonies. What are they after?”

“Veetor,” Shepard turned to the nervous quarian. “What happened next?”

“Th-they put all of the humans on their ship. They left. Flew away. But they _will_ be back for me. No one ever escapes!” He started shaking, mumbling frantically.

“I don’t think we are going to get anything else out of him for now, Commander,” Jacob said sympathetically, stepping toward Veetor, who flinched in terror.

“You’re right. Thank you, Veetor,” she said, as kindly as she could. It was frustrating to have so many unanswered questions, but at least they had leads.

“I do have something more that could help,” Veetor remembered suddenly. “Those creatures . . . I recorded them on my Omni-tool. Lots of readings. I’ve studied them. Electromagnetic energy. Dark matter.”

“We need to get this information to the Illusive Man,” Miranda said quickly. “Grab this quarian and call the shuttle.”

But before they could move, Tali came striding angrily into the room. “ _What_? Veetor is _injured_. He needs medical treatment immediately—not an interrogation.”

“We won’t hurt him,” Jacob insisted. “We just need to see if he knows anything else.”

“Shepard, please,” Tali pleaded, her voice thick with concern.

Shepard wanted more time with Veetor, but she didn’t want to traumatize him further, and she valued her friendship with Tali higher than the opinion of a couple of Cerberus officers. Miranda and Jacob would be put out, but they could make do with the data alone.

“Veetor, go with Tali. But leave your Omni-tool with us. That data could save human lives.” Shepard heard Miranda huff indignantly behind her, but ignored it.

“Thank you, Shepard,” Tali said, relieved. “I’m glad you’re still the one calling the shots here.”

Shepard nodded and shook hands with her old friend before Tali guided Veetor carefully out of the room. Miranda was looking at Shepard darkly and Jacob seemed to be trying _not_ to look at either of them. “Move out,” she announced simply, picking up Veetor’s Omni-tool and heading toward the shuttle.

* * *

 

Back on the base, Shepard had changed into her Cerberus fatigues and sent the data from Veetor’s Omni-tool to the Illusive Man. It was time for her to meet with him to discuss Veetor’s findings and debrief with him about Freedom’s Progress. She walked back into the bare room, stood on the circular platform, and watched as the room around her dissolved, replaced by the projection of the Illusive Man’s impressive office.

“Shepard,” he greeted her calmly, lighting a cigarette. “Good work on Freedom’s Progress. Getting the quarians to cooperate with us was quite a feat. We might take different approaches to . . . diplomacy, but I can’t argue with your results.” He was right. Shepard shuddered at the thought of what might have become of those quarians without her there to quell the tensions between Cerberus and Tali’s squadron. Her methods had potentially improved the quarians’ view of Cerberus. But what she was really interested in were the Collectors.

“You also confirmed that the Collectors are behind the attacks,” the Illusive Man went on.

“Who _are_ they?” she asked.

“They periodically travel the Terminus systems,” he began, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “They gather seemingly unimportant items or specimens and usually exchange them for technology. When their transactions are complete, they disappear as quickly as they arrived, back through the Omega 4 relay into uncharted space.”

“Why is the Omega 4 relay unmapped?” Shepard inquired. It seemed odd that this was the second time she’d heard of this relay today, something she’d been completely ignorant of before.

“Only that no ship passing through it has ever returned,” the Illusive Man replied ominously. “Our best guess is that it’s directly connected to Collector vessels, allowing only them safe passage. If they can manipulate the relays, that’s just further evidence of their connection to the Reapers.”

“Okay, but why are they so interested in the humans?”

“If they are agents of the Reapers, it could be any number of reasons. Obviously the humans played a huge role in the destruction of Sovereign. What concerns me is that they abduct them. After the humans are frozen, why not just kill them?”

“That is troubling,” Shepard said slowly. “What are the Collectors getting out of this?”

“They aren’t very forthcoming about their motives. They pay slavers and merc groups exorbitant sums for the specimens they want, and then they leave. But they’ve never targeted a single species before. And the previous sample sizes were in the dozens, not the tens of thousands.”

Shepard gulped. The existence of the Collectors, their purpose alone was troubling enough. But their current mission to take thousands of humans for an unknown reason was incredibly troubling. “How do you know the Reapers are involved?”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a sigh. “But the patterns are there. You’ve seen this before. The Council and the Alliance want to believe the Reaper threat died with Sovereign. You and I know better. I won’t wait until the Reapers are on the march. We need to take the fight to them.”

Shepard was amazed to find that she agreed. But there was one problem. “I can’t do this alone,” she said seriously. “I know you’ve got the resources. I want my old team.”

The Illusive Man chuckled mirthlessly, exhaling more smoke. “Shepard. Be logical. It’s been two years, remember? They’ve moved on.”

She sighed heavily, trying to mask her emotions. He was right, of course. What reason would any of them have to wait around for two years? They all thought she’d _died_. But the Illusive Man seemed to know more. “How do you know that?” she asked. “Where are they now?”

“I have limited intel on your old crew,” he replied dismissively.

Shepard shook her head in frustration, finally asking the question that had been burning inside her for days. “Where is Kaidan Alenko?”

The Illusive Man ashed his cigarette and cleared his throat before answering. “He’s still with the Alliance. Promoted, I believe. His life is . . . surprisingly well classified.”

Of course he was promoted. And of course it was classified. He was probably doing extremely important work. Kaidan had always been brilliant. He was a rising star, but he’d been eclipsed by her because of the fight against Sovereign. Yet he had always been destined for greatness. She felt herself smiling, happy for him. _I wonder if he’s seeing anyone now._ She hated herself for the thought but she couldn’t help it. He was the ultimate catch after all, handsome, caring, intelligent, and now, famous. Of course he would have moved on by now. Shepard could barely stand the image of Kaidan in the arms of another woman. But the last thing she was about to do was discuss _that_ with the Illusive Man. Instead, she asked about the rest of her crew.

“Garrus Vakarian disappeared after your death. Even _we_ haven’t been able to track him down. Tali Zorah, well, you know what she’s up to now, but I am hesitant to get her on board because of our history with the quarians. It is rumored that Liara T’Soni is on Illium working for the Shadow Broker. If that’s true, she can’t be trusted. Urdnot Wrex went home to Tuchanka and hasn’t left the planet since. He is attempting to unite the krogan clans.”

Shepard wasn’t sure if she could believe any of this information. It seemed awfully convenient for the Illusive Man that no one she knew or trusted previously was available. But with no other information at her disposal, she’d have to accept it for now.

“Okay,” she said. “So I take it you’ve made other plans.”

“Yes,” the Illusive Man answered with a nod. “I’ve compiled a list with dossiers on a number of capable people. Finding them and convincing them to join our cause will be difficult, but you’re a natural leader. I have every confidence in your success.”

Shepard ignored the compliment. “Where do we start?”

“Miranda and Jacob will get you situated with the dossiers and a ship. You can decide where to start from there.” Shepard nodded and made to turn around and leave the projection platform when the Illusive Man stopped her. “There’s one more thing. Your pilot—I chose him myself. I hear he’s the best. Someone you can trust.” With that, he pressed a button on his side table, terminating their interview and shutting off the projection.

Shepard turned at the sound of the door opening behind her to see a familiar silhouette limping toward her. She could hardly believe her eyes. “Joker?!” Forgetting herself at the sight of the first friendly face she’d seen inside Cerberus, Shepard ran forward and threw her arms around him, pulling him fiercely into a tight hug.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Joker gasped as she nearly knocked the breath out of him. “Relax, it’s not like one of us is returned from the grave or something. Oh, wait . . .”

Shepard’s chuckle was muffled by Joker’s chest from the closeness of their embrace. He smelled clean, like the standard issue bar soap the Alliance stocked the old Normandy with, and his arms around her felt safe and natural. She’d been putting up a façade of strength and resilience since she’d woken up, but with Joker she didn’t have to pretend—she felt genuinely happy.

She backed up far enough to look up at him, and was astounded to see that despite his jokes only a moment before, he had tears glistening in his normally cheerful blue eyes. “Hey,” she said consolingly. “Hey, none of that. What’s the matter with you?” she asked, pulling away and punching him in the arm playfully.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s just . . . really, really good to see you.”

Shepard smiled softly. “It’s good to see you, too, Joker. But how’d you end up on this heap?” she asked, gesturing around at the Cerberus station.

“Well, when they told me that they’d . . . brought you back, I didn’t believe it at first. But I didn’t really have anything to lose, so I figured I would take the job. You know, just in case. I mean, I know Cerberus is bad and all, but the chance to see you again? I uh . . . I’m really glad I took it.”

Shepard was at a loss for words. This wasn’t quite the Joker she remembered. His openness and sincerity were moving but also unnerving. But before she could respond, he seemed to remember himself.

“But aside from all that sappy shit,” he said, forcing a smile, “there’s also this.” He grabbed Shepard suddenly, enclosing her small hand in his. “Come on!” he exclaimed excitedly, setting off down the hall as fast as his limp would allow. Shepard was surprised at the severity of it. She wasn’t the only one with scars from that day over Alchera.

After going through two sets of doors, they were in a hallway Shepard hadn’t seen before, with windows looking out into a spacious hangar. “They just showed it to me today,” Joker said, beaming with joy as he leaned toward the glass until the brim of his ball cap stopped him. Shepard stepped up to the window and looked out in wonder. Inside the hangar was a nearly perfect replica of the Normandy. It was beautiful, solid, and completely undamaged. Cerberus seemed to have rebuilt it from scratch. She noticed with distaste that it featured the Cerberus orange color, and that it had “SR2” where the SR1’s designation used to be, but it was a remarkable vessel nonetheless.

“Joker . . . this is amazing,” she breathed.

“Yeah, I know. I never thought I’d get a chance to fly a ship like this again.” Joker’s smile faded slightly, and he turned away from the window, looking at his feet uncomfortably.

Shepard glanced at him uneasily. “What is it?”

“Shepard, I never thought I’d fly something like this again, and I’m not sure I deserve to. It’s taken all of the last two years for me to stop blaming myself for . . . for what happened to you. If you wouldn’t have had to come back for me—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Shepard said forcefully. “Joker, I am your commanding officer. It’s my duty to make sure that all of my crew are accounted for, and it’s your duty to be the best damned helmsman in the galaxy. We both took our jobs _very_ seriously that day, maybe to a fault. But the only people to blame are whichever bastards are responsible for that attack. And that’s the last I want to hear of it. Understood?”

“Yeah,” he responded, his voice quavering slightly. Shepard reached over and took his hand, squeezing it encouragingly, as if to reassure him that there was nothing to forgive—she was alive, after all. His palm held the rough traces of a callous from constantly running his hands over steering controls all his life, but his touch was warm and pleasant. Shepard’s reunion with Tali had been tense and short-lived. This was the first moment she’d had with a friend in . . . well, two years, she realized in amazement. She didn’t want to let go.

Joker broke the silence abruptly. “Well,” he began brightly, awkwardly dropping her hand and making to leave through another doorway, “the new ship is pretty damned advanced, but I don’t think it can give you a tour of itself.”

Shepard giggled. “No, I expect not.”

“Well that’s where I come in,” Joker’s trademark grin was back, the emotional scene of moments before forgotten. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely,” Shepard returned, falling into step beside him. “I already know what to name her.”


	7. Photograph

“Can you believe it?” Joker asked ecstatically as he turned in his seat to face Shepard? “Look at these leather seats! The Alliance didn’t care about comfort—the budget was too strict. But this cockpit is spectacular!” He turned back to his controls and rambled on about the ship, noting that while the reproduction was close to the original, there were some new upgrades that the SR1 didn’t have.

“That’s great, Joker, really. But don’t forget who gave it to us. I can’t help but feel that this is all too good to be true,” Shepard said uncertainly.

Joker was unconcerned. “Ah, I know. You don’t trust them. I really don’t either. But you’ve got command of this ship, and we’ve got each other.” The thought made Shepard feel at least a little better. Joker’s positivity was hard to shake, which had made his vulnerability earlier that day all the more surprising. But he was his usual self now, and his sunny disposition made it hard not to enjoy the perks of the beautiful new Normandy.

After talking with Joker, Shepard headed down the bridge and rendezvoused with Miranda. “Shepard,” she said evenly, inclining her head in greeting.  She showed her around the command deck, which was much the same as before. She also introduced her to a new crew member, yeoman Kelly Chambers.

Kelly was tall and fair, with short, light brown hair and wide, friendly eyes. She was looking at Shepard as though she was the love of her life. “I am _so_ honored to be working under you, Commander,” she said, starry-eyed. “I’ve always admired your work.”

“Er, thanks,” Shepard replied. She wasn’t used to this sort of treatment. It felt weird to be treated like a celebrity. “It’s nice to meet you, Kelly. What exactly is your job on this ship?”

“I will act as your personal assistant, but I am also a trained psychologist. I will consult with you about our various planned recruits, and also monitor the psychological welfare of our crew as we go along.”

Shepard fidgeted uncomfortably. That seemed odd to her. They hadn’t had a psychologist aboard the SR1. She didn’t want to be analyzed, and she didn’t want her new team to feel like specimens under a microscope either. “Why is anyone’s psychological wellbeing in doubt?”

“Well, it isn’t necessarily. Not yet anyway. We will be recruiting some unconventional people to your team, Shepard. Criminals. Assassins. You may need some help relating to them, and they may need some help adjusting. And . . . well, the nature of our mission isn’t one that will sit well with everyone. Some might call challenging the Collectors a death wish.” Kelly was certainly confident, and her response to Shepard’s doubts had been readily and passionately delivered. Shepard figured she was alright; but the “death wish” comment left her on edge—mainly because Kelly was probably right.

 “The probability of surviving an encounter with the Collectors is indeed quite low,” a cool female voice said, startling Shepard.

“Who are you?” she asked, turning to face the source of the voice, a spherical blue hologram that lit up as it spoke.

“I am the Normandy’s artificial intelligence. The crew like to refer to me as EDI,” she said.

Shepard wasn’t sure how to respond. AI’s were notoriously dangerous. The last thing she needed as a Cerberus AI spying on her work and potentially taking control of its system.

“Joker’s going to love this,” she said sarcastically, casting a sideways glace at Miranda, who ignored her comment.

“I do not helm the ship. Mr. Moreau’s talents will not go to waste,” _Mr. Moreau? Talents? Maybe Joker will like this after all_ , Shepard thought, smirking. Joker had a big ego, albeit a well-deserved one. “During combat, I operate the electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suites. Beyond that, I cannot interface with the ship’s systems. I observe and offer analysis and advice, nothing more,” EDI explained.

Shepard felt reassured, but also a little unnerved at the lifelike conversation abilities of the AI. “Well, um, pleased to meet you, EDI,” she offered, as she and Miranda continued through the ship.

Miranda showed her around some more, and Shepard took note of the new med bay, where she had a quick chat with her friend from the SR1, Dr. Karin Chakwas. She also stopped by the armory, where Jacob gave her a quick salute before getting back to work putting together a shotgun. They went down a deck to engineering, where Shepard met engineers Gabriella Daniels and Kenneth Donelly. The pair were quirky but capable, and she looked forward to getting to know them better. They went up to the crew quarters where Shepard checked out the main battery and met the cook and a few others amongst the crew. Finally, Miranda brought Shepard up to the highest deck, the captain’s quarters.

She had merely had a bunk like anyone else on the SR1. Here she had her own luxurious and tastefully appointed quarters. There was a tall, glowing fish tank that took up the entire left wall of the room. There was a large and plush bed situated beneath a skylight looking out at the stars, a side table with a stereo control, an armor cabinet and dresser, and a curio in which she could hang her own décor. “Wow, Miranda. This is nice. Really. Thank you.”

For the first time, Miranda seemed to acknowledge Shepard’s attempts at civility. “You’re welcome, Shepard,” she replied with a slight smile. “I hope everything is to your liking. Please let me know if there is anything else you need. The Illusive Man has spared no expense to establish this ship to your liking.

Shepard nodded. “So what now?”

“The dossiers are all available in your personal terminal,” Miranda said, gesturing to a computer situated on an L-shaped desk to her right. “It is up to you to decide where we go first.”

Shepard decided to pay Miranda the respect of asking her for advice instead of taking charge all at once. “Which do you think it’s best to start with?”

Miranda smiled. “Well, Commander, I think our first destination ought to be Omega. We have two possible recruits there, and one of them is Dr. Mordin Solus. He might be able to develop a form of protection against the freezing venom of the seeker swarms Veetor described. It would be a wise defensive measure should we encounter the Collectors along the way.”

“That sounds good to me, Miranda,” Shepard said. “Thank you. Let the others know. We’ll set a course and depart at 0600.”

“Right away. Commander,” Miranda left the way she’d come and Shepard stood in the silent cabin, wondering what to do next.

She walked over to her computer, intending to check out the dossiers Miranda had mentioned. As she stepped toward it, an electronic picture frame on her desk clicked to life, sensing her movement. Shepard’s breath caught in her throat as the frame lit up with the only picture of Kaidan that she’d ever taken. The sight of his face after everything she’d been through over the past few days shook her considerably. She grabbed onto the desk for support with one hand and lifted the frame with the other.

Shepard hugged the picture to her chest in a futile attempt to feel closer to him. She would have given anything for Kaidan to hold her just then. She was so overwhelmed. She was under so much pressure, and surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces. She was embarking on a difficult mission with hardly any friends by her side, and while she hated to admit it, she was nervous.

Shepard looked down at the photo. Kaidan’s dark, lustrous hair shone, his warm caramel-colored eyes entrancing her. He was a quiet and often stoic man. Shepard was glad to see that while it wasn’t exactly a toothy grin, he was wearing a soft smile in the picture. Sitting down at her new desk with a sigh, she thought back to the night she had taken it . . .

* * *

 

_The lights of the mess were turned down low and classic rock music, both Shepard’s and Ashley’s favorite, was thumping throughout the whole deck. Shepard was grateful. The atmosphere made her feel bold and uninhibited. Even in the midst of their mad pursuit of Saren, the squad sometimes docked the Normandy and took time out to celebrate birthdays, and today was Ashley’s. Shepard had been working up the courage to try and make a move on Kaidan, and Ashley’s party was the ideal setting to do it._

_She and the staff lieutenant had been flirting for weeks, and her pent-up frustration was starting to distract her from the assignment. Just the other day they had been planet side on an exceptionally humid forest planet for a minor resource-gathering mission. She, Kaidan, and Wrex had taken a break on the banks of a small pond, grateful that the planet had breathable air that allowed them to go helmetless. She and Kaidan had stripped off their shirts for temporary reprieve from the heat, while Wrex called them pussies, insisting Tuchanka’s climate was worse. They’d just laughed, splashing happily in the murky but mercifully cool water._

_Shepard wasn’t sure if it was the heat disorienting her, or her own foolish desire taking over, but she had been so preoccupied looking at Kaidan’s lean but chiseled body, her eyes raking over the muscles of his back, that she hadn’t even heard Wrex’s warning. She hadn’t even realized that hostiles had spotted them until shots were being fired while she stood there, waist-deep in the pond in her sports bra and pants, with no armor and no weapon, wondering absently why Kaidan was trying to run back to shore, tripping awkwardly in the clay bottom of the pond._

_She had been lucky to have Wrex there that day, who had, thankfully, taken out the small group of attacking batarians (who turned out to be nothing more than common thieves that inhabited the forest) without her help. Because she had been so wrapped up in her feverish fantasy of what it might be like to run her mouth over Kaidan’s sun-kissed, sweaty chest, that she’d nearly been shot to death._

_Yes, Shepard’s infatuation with Kaidan was clearly getting out of hand. So that night, lent courage by a whole bottle of cheap wine, Shepard decided that she would try and lure him back to her bunk. She saw him sitting on a couch next to Garrus and Joker, a glass of some brown liquor in his hand. While Garrus and Joker were laughing loudly together, Kaidan looked preoccupied. He was tapping his right foot to the beat of the song and staring off thoughtfully._

_Shepard kept her eyes fixed on him as she pressed her way through the other partygoers. “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, grinning as she came to a stop before the couch. She felt dizzy but deliciously brave. She sat down on the rug in front of him, putting her wine glass on the coffee table behind her._

_“Oh, Commander, hey,” Kaidan said, smiling at her nervously, a slight blush coloring his features._

_“It’s ‘Shepard,’” she corrected him for what felt like the thousandth time. “Having fun?” she asked, crossing her legs and leaning forward, placing a hand on each of Kaidan’s knees._

_He gulped, sitting back into the couch. “Yeah. Definitely.”_

_“Me too. Great party. And I love this music. Don’t you?”_

_“What? This music? Really?” Kaidan smirked. “Not really. I don’t even know what this is,” he admitted._

_Shepard’s eyes widened and she stood up suddenly, her butt hitting her wine glass on the edge of the table and spilling the dark crimson liquid all over. Kaidan jumped in alarm, but Shepard ignored it, her eyes locked on his in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that you aren’t acquainted with the group of almighty gods of rock music formerly known as Toto?! Have you really never heard “Africa,” the 1982 smash hit that took America by storm?”_

_Kaidan just looked back at her, astonished, his mouth agape. But Garrus and Joker were doubled over with laughter, looking at Shepard like she had suddenly turned into volus in a tutu. “Shepard . . . you’re . . . so lame,” Joker gasped, trying to catch his breath from laughing._

_“And so drunk,” Garrus added, looking at the growing wine stain on the rug._

_“N-no,” stammered another voice. Ashley stumbled toward them, giggling and hiccupping, a bottle in her hand. She thrust her arm over Shepard’s shoulder and slouched into her. “She’s_ *hic* _right,” Ashley slurred. “This music is AMAZING_.”

 _“Shepard,” Kaidan began, chuckling, “why do you like this stuff so much? You didn’t even grow up on Earth, and this is_ way _before our time.”_

 _She gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s like Ashley said, Kaidan. It’s AMAZING. You’d be a fool_ not _to love it.”_

_“Well I guess that makes me a fool,” he said, winking at her. The mischievous look in his eyes made her knees weak and she stumbled before leaning forward grabbing the arm of the couch to right herself, shivering as her hand brushed Kaidan’s resting there. The movement made Ashley’s arm slip from Shepard’s shoulders, and she fell to the ground in the puddle of Shepard’s wine, giggling helplessly._

_As Ashley hit the ground, hard, Shepard crouched down and peered at her with concern. For moment a the girl laid still, her eyes shut. “Ash, you alright?” Shepard asked._

_Ashley turned her head to the side, sniffing the soaked, now-purple rug. Her eyes snapped open. “There’s wine everywhere! Is this heaven?” she asked with a lazy smile, hiccupping again._

_“Okay, I think the birthday girl has had enough,” Shepard said, laughing as she bent down to try and help Ashley up, despite being pretty unsteady on her feet herself._

_“No, Shepard, you stay and enjoy yourself. Relax for once instead of looking after all of us,” Garrus said seriously. “Tali,” he called, “help me get Williams up to her bunk.”_

_Shepard smiled gratefully and plopped down in Garrus’s former spot between Joker and Kaidan, as Tali and Garrus helped a stumbling Ashley out of the room. She picked up Garrus’s abandoned drink from the table and gulped its contents in one motion before letting out a decidedly unladylike burp. “Waste not, want not,” she said happily. Kaidan looked at her oddly. No one had really seen this side of her before, and while Joker enthusiastically clinked his glass to hers in a toast before finishing his own drink, it was clear that Kaidan had no idea what to make of her wild behavior._

_She sat back before turning to Kaidan and leaning a little closer to him, emboldened by the alcohol, the music, and the heat of his body next to her own. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all night, handsome,” she said, louder than she’d meant to. Kaidan smiled awkwardly in response and Joker stood abruptly._

_“That’s my cue,” he announced dramatically, taking off his ball cap and making a sweeping bow before heading over to the table to join Wrex and some others at cards._

_“Um, well, looks like I’m all yours,” Kaidan said, nerves lending an edge to his voice._

_“I wish,” Shepard replied without missing a beat. “What do you say to getting out of here, Alenko?”_

_Kaidan’s face paled, but he took a drink from his own glass before standing up and extending a hand to help Shepard up. “Of course, Commander.”_

It’s Shepard _, she thought, but she said nothing and stood shakily, taking his proffered hand. Her biotics reacted immediately to his touch and she hoped desperately that he didn’t notice as she led him out of the room and down a corridor. As they walked along, she cast shy glances at him over her shoulder as if to confirm that he was really there. Shepard couldn’t believe that she was really doing this. Survive a thresher maw attack? Sure. Become the first human Spectre? Check. But seduce Kaidan Alenko? She couldn’t believe it had taken this long to rally her courage._

_Finally they came to her desired destination: the med bay. It was empty, just as she’d hoped. She sat down on the exam bed and patted the space next to her, looking up at Kaidan expectantly. He sat next to her, but left a little space between them._

_Shepard suddenly felt a little less brave. Kaidan was so maddeningly good looking, and while she suspected that he was at least as drunk as she was after a night of drinking hard liquor, he wasn’t giving an indication of it, sitting up straight and looking at her intently. She was starting to feel a little foolish for her behavior now that she’d gotten this far. The silence was deafening; she needed to break it. “It’s because of my dad,” she said suddenly._

_“Um, what is?” Kaidan asked, confused._

_“You asked why I like that silly music. My dad loved it. You’re right—we lived in the colonies. But my dad had this antique record player that had belonged to his grandpa, and somehow through all of the moving, even moving_ off the planet, _my dad managed to keep that record player, and a handful of old records.  They were all classic rock music from Earth. He listened to them all the time and would dance around the house with my mom on the weekends. I used to think it was so annoying.  But after . . . what happened, when I lost them . . . listening my dad’s music made me feel closer to them. His old record player got destroyed, of course, but I remembered what music he liked, and I would listen to it online when I got lonely. It always cheered me up.” Shepard realized that there tears running down her cheeks and turned away from Kaidan, frantically going to wipe them. She had stayed strong through so much, rarely showing how hard the loss of her family had been to anyone. It was foolish to cry about it now, in front of_ him _._

_But Kaidan reached out and touched her face, gently turning it back to him. He cupped her right cheek in his hand and Shepard leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. He wiped away her tears with his thumb and Shepard let out a quivering sigh._

_“That’s a sweet story,” Kaidan said, almost in a whisper. “I’m sorry I asked you if the memory is painful.”_

_“It’s alright,” Shepard said. “I like talking to you. It’s . . . comforting.”_

_“I like talking to you, too,” Kaidan replied, his face inches from hers. He leaned toward her, his lips only a breath away, when Dr. Chakwas flipped on the fluorescent lights of the med bay and then gasped in surprise._

_“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I-I’m sorry, Commander. I just came in here for . . . some medicine. Yes, medicine for Williams. She hit her head on the floor earlier, you know.” Shepard smirked as she watched Dr. Chakwas open what she knew to be the woman’s stash of Serrice Ice Brandy. She removed a bottle hastily before leaving the room without another word._

_Shepard suddenly felt very awkward. She and Kaidan had been so close to kissing just then, but the moment was gone. She decided to try and strike up conversation again. “Do you miss home?” she asked him. “I’ll bet your parents miss you.”_

_“I do, sometimes,” Kaidan admitted. “But I like being out here, seeing the galaxy, making a difference. My mom really does miss me, though. She writes pretty frequently.”_

_“Do you write back?” Shepard asked curiously._

_“Yeah, but it makes me sad sometimes. She asks me to visit her on leave. She doesn’t know that the nature of our mission right now doesn’t really offer many opportunities for leave. I don’t like telling her no. And I hate worrying her.”_

_Shepard sat thoughtfully in silence for a moment. “We should send her a care package,” she announced._

_“What?” Kaidan asked, laughing._

_“You know, like a box of stuff to make someone happy when you’re separated. We can send stuff we pick up from other planets and the Citadel in a package with your next letter. We can give her some different alien foods, and wine, and cheesy postcards,” she said excitedly. “Oh, and a picture of you!” Shepard scrambled for her Omni-tool and prepared its camera, turning it toward Kaidan._

_“Aw, come on Shepard,” he protested. “This is silly.”_

_“Pleeeeease? Do it for me?” She gave him her sweetest, most innocent smile. “Don’t make me order you to do it, Kaidan,” she added in a mock-serious tone._

_He stared at her silently for a moment, mulling it over, and smirking in a way that told her he was going to give her what she wanted. “Okay, I give up,” he relented. He gave her the smallest smile, clearly a little embarrassed to be posing for a picture on the exam bed in the med bay in the middle of the night._

_Shepard just giggled like a teenager, giddy from the alcohol and the high of being alone with Kaidan. She aimed her camera carefully, trying to steady her shaky hands, and took the photo. They sat in silence for a moment while the picture processed. When it appeared, projected over her Omni-tool, she showed it to him, beaming proudly. “See? That wasn’t so hard. And you look hot. I mean, you_ always _look hot, but—” she stopped suddenly, realizing that she’d been rambling without thinking. Kaidan grinned and she blushed deeply at what she’d said. “I-I uh . . .”_

 _“Shh,” Kaidan said, rendering her breathless as he pressed a finger tantalizingly against her stammering lips. “_ You _always look absolutely beautiful,” he said, his voice husky. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, that it was possible that Kaidan wanted her as much as she wanted him. She stared at him for a moment, reveling in the heat smoldering behind his eyes._

_Her gaze lowered to his mouth. His lips looked warm and inviting, and she leaned her face forward and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against his. Kaidan responded immediately, placing his hands on either side of her head and tangling his fingers in her hair as he tilted his head and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss._

_It was ecstasy. How long had she wished for this moment? She kissed him back in earnest, moving her tongue over his; he tasted like scotch, and she loved it, wanted more. Shepard broke away, gasping, and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him forcefully down onto the bed and crawling forward, straddling him. Kaidan groaned as she settled over him, and she exalted in the feeling of his arousal pressing insistently against her through his pants. He reached up and grabbed the front of her shirt roughly, pulling her face back down to his in an urgent kiss. Shepard felt her biotics flare suddenly in the intensity of the moment, and Kaidan’s own biotics reacted in a wave of crackling energy that sent a chill down her spine._

_She wanted to feel his touch on her skin, wanted the heat and immediacy of his flesh on hers. She sat back again, going to take her shirt off and stumbling through the task in her drunken state. But he placed his hands gently on her arms and brought them back down by her sides. He sat up and looked in her eyes as he spoke. “Not yet, Shepard. Not tonight.”_

_“What?!” she asked. “Why the hell not?”_

_Kaidan chuckled, and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her torso tightly. In one swift motion he flipped them over, and suddenly Shepard was looking up him in awe as he laid her gently onto the bed with a hand behind her head. Now_ he _was straddling_ her _. She was surprised by his strength and control. The ordinarily quiet and rule-following lieutenant never stopped surprising her._

_He leaned down so that his mouth was over the exposed skin of her collarbone, his breath hot against her as he trailed kisses up to her neck and jawline. Shepard was panting with need. “Kaidan,” she whined, grabbing his shoulders and trying desperately to pull him closer, “why are you teasing me like this?”_

_She felt him smile against her cheek before he moved his mouth to her ear. He slid his hand down to the place where the hem of her shirt met the top of her pants, and slipped his hand beneath her clothes, tracing his fingers slowly across her hips. “Because you’re drunk, Shepard,” he whispered. “And so am I.”_

_“So?!” she asked, exasperated._

_“So,” he breathed against her ear, keeping up his maddening movements below, “the first time I make love to you, I want to be present. And I want you to remember every last moment of it.” Shepard gasped and arched her body against him, begging for more contact. But he sat up, lifted her hand, and placed a chaste kiss on her wrist, like a signature. Shepard met his eyes just in time to see him smile wickedly down at her before quickly leaving the room._

_Shepard decided that he must have been very drunk indeed to talk to her that way, to take charge like that. Whatever the case, she had never been more intrigued with the seemingly uptight man, and she had never wanted anyone more._

_She fumbled with her Omni-tool, summoning the photo she’d just taken. She made her way clumsily to her bunk, gazing thoughtfully at Kaidan’s face in the photograph, and pouting at the absence of the real thing._

* * *

 

Shepard shook her head, smiling sadly at the memory of how carefree they had all been then, at how her biggest concern was finding Saren, before she knew about the Reapers, before she lost Ashley. She would never forget Kaidan’s uncharacteristic boldness that night, how for once, he hasn’t even mentioned the damned regs.

The man in the photograph was so different from the broken man she’d see on the vid of her funeral. She hoped that by now Kaidan had found peace, that he was still the strong, loving man she’d known years ago.

Shepard set the photo reverently on her desk. It was a miracle in itself that it had somehow survived being spaced. While at first it had felt like an invasion of her privacy that Miranda had put the photo in her cabin, Shepard reasoned that with everything else the woman knew about her, it was no surprise that she was aware of her relationship with Kaidan. Miranda’s decision to put Kaidan’s photo on her desk could have been another test of Shepard’s character, but somehow she didn’t think that was the case. Shepard got the sense that the gesture was Miranda’s attempt to make her feel more at home there, to create a space similar to one Shepard would have designed herself.

 _Maybe Miranda isn’t so bad,_ Shepard thought before climbing into her bed. It felt oversized, cold. She tried to push the troublesome loneliness away as she sought some much-needed sleep. She had a big day to face the next morning after all. Yes, it was best to focus on the mission. So to ease her mind, Shepard resolved to make a dossier of her own soon, one that focused on finding a certain, recently-promoted Alliance marine.

With that, she fell asleep at last, disturbed by sweet dreams of dashing, dark-haired biotic soldiers turning into nightmares filled with fearsome Reapers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> **Hope you're enjoying the story--have an awesome day!**


	8. The Alpha of Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for such a long hiatus. Life and my Star Wars fic intervened! Happy belated N7 Day, lovelies! :) Hope you like this one.**

Shepard decided that Omega was simply not for her. 

  
On approach, standing in the safety and security of the new Normandy's cockpit, she'd been awed by the eerie red glow around the gargantuan, mushroom-shaped structure, eager to pursue her first dossier from the Illusive Man and make some progress on their mission. 

  
But that burgeoning optimism was dead on arrival. 

  
Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob had barely landed when they were assailed by a turian messenger insisting they meet with the enigmatic “Aria.” While Shepard had been impressed by Aria T’Loak’s cavernous and flashy nightclub, Afterlife, the woman herself was notably less charming. 

  
Aria was a beautiful but cold and arrogant asari, and while she had pointed them in the right direction for finding the coveted salarian doctor, Mordin Solus, her warning of the one rule of Omega ("Don't fuck with Aria") left a bad taste in Shepard's mouth. 

  
But it wasn't Aria herself that turned Shepard off of Omega. It was the standard of living of its impoverished and ignored citizens, the general filth, the fear and paranoia engendered by the constant presence of the warring mercenary clans. Despite all appearances, Aria claimed that there was no leader on Omega because there was no government. Shepard could see why she would make such a claim, regardless of its obvious falsehood--no one in their right mind would wish to take responsibility for the sorry state of affairs on the station.

   
The gravity of the situation became apparent when Aria pointed Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob in the direction of the quarantine zone to find Dr. Solus. It had taken some sweet talking the turian guard posted at the entrance, but they had gotten inside, and were horrified by what they saw. 

  
Now, walking among the mostly abandoned slums, Shepard wondered why they still bothered with the guards. No one in here was getting out. The turians had been doing their job all too well, and the sick and dying had been confined together with the healthy, wiping out blocks of population.

   
Her squad had only come across one survivor, a gravely ill and understandably angry batarian. Shepard patched him up with some medi-gel and vowed to send help his way when they located the doctor at last.   
The batarian was surprised by her kindness, due in large part to the fact that the general consensus on Omega held that the plague was human bio-terrorism. The sickness had a pandemic scope and absolute mortality rate. Only humans and vorcha were spared from its deadly grasp, and considering the vorcha's decidedly simple and destructive nature, no one thought them capable of engineering so perfect a weapon. But Shepard knew instinctively that humans weren't to blame either. It just didn't make sense--what would any human have to gain from wiping out the slums of Omega? 

She didn’t have the time to ponder over such matters then. In spite of his questionable view of humanity the batarian had given them instructions on where to find Dr. Solus.

   
"I'm surprised you did that back there," Jacob observed suddenly, eyeing Shepard with interest as they made their way cautiously toward the doctor's location.

   
"Did what?" She had taken a liking to Jacob because he seemed honest and forthcoming. But she made it a point to remind herself that he was Cerberus, that there was a possibility he couldn't be trusted. 

  
"Helped that batarian. I'm impressed. A lesser person would have left him, especially with that attitude." 

  
"I . . . Don't follow," Shepard began. "It was basic decency. We've got no shortage of medi-gel, and he was dying--painfully." 

“I believe Jacob is surprised that you would help _any_ batarian at all. I have to admit that I am, considering your history.” Miranda’s cool voice betrayed no emotion as she made this observation. Not for the first time, Shepard felt herself bristle at the other woman’s manner. The murder of Shepard’s family, along with the rest of her colony, was hardly appropriate field banter. 

“What happened on Mindoir was the worst thing I’ve ever been through, but I can hardly justify hatred of all batarians based on the actions of a band of rogues and slavers. Yes, Jacob, the one back there was about as friendly as Miranda here.”

Jacob snorted.

“But I’d only be proving his suspicion of humanity right by leaving him to suffer.”

Miranda scoffed, but when Shepard turned to look at her, she found her smiling. “How diplomatic. The Illusive Man might have been right. I think you’re going to be worth every penny.”

 

* * *

 

The doctor’s clinic was protected by an imposing group of human guards and run by human assistants. They were all clearly fiercely loyal to the doctor, a fact that surprised Shepard due to the tension between humans and aliens because of the plague outbreak.

The found the eccentric salarian busy at work in a treatment room. Mordin wore a long white coat with red trim, but he neither looked nor acted like a typical doctor might. His movements were quick enough to betray combat experience, but frantic enough to remind Shepard of vids she’s seen of hummingbirds back in school. He was a blur of movement, and when he spoke, his words seemed to run together, too.

“Not Alliance. No uniform. No reason to come out this far. No. Well-armed, but not mercs either. Aria tracking all merc activity. Human. Why would humans be interested in plague? Weaponizing? No, not scientists. Seems that—"

“ _Relax_ , Mordin,” Shepard interjected, stifling a chuckle. “I’m Commander Shepard, a Spectre. I’m here to speak to you. We’re only now finding out about this plague, but I need your help.”

“Help? Oh, no. No. Too busy, too much to do. And what could you need my help with? Who sent you? Human . . . human interests. Not Alliance, must be Cerberus.”

“I—Well, yes. That’s right.” Shepard shifted uncomfortably. On Omega the view of humans was already unfavorable. If the people here believed humanity had inflicted the plague on the alien races, they would naturally suspect Cerberus. Her connection to the organization might not bode well. She felt Miranda stiffen almost imperceptibly beside her.

“But what could Cerberus want with a salarian doctor?” Before Mordin could hurry into conclusions of his own, Shepard spoke up.

“The Collectors are abducting human colonies. We don’t know why, but they are moving quickly and wiping out entire settlements. We need someone with your expertise to help us defend against their attacks.”

Mordin’s eyes widened. He lifted a hand thoughtfully to his chin as he pondered Shepard’s news. “Collectors. One of the only races with the technology to engineer the plague. Interesting. Our goals may be similar. Common enemy.”

“You think the Collectors are behind the plague?” Shepard asked, intrigued. Until recently, she hadn’t even heard of them, but it seemed the Collectors were very busy stirring up trouble for humanity now. In any case, Shepard was just grateful that Mordin didn’t blame appear to hold humanity reponsible. He seemed to be the only non-human on Omega who didn’t.

“Yes. So will try to assist you. But first, must stop the plague. Cure already crated, must distribute it through air systems. Vorcha have shut down power to them. Must take them out and administer cure throughout the city.” He turned his back to Shepard then and began typing feverishly at a console nearby.

“I’ll take care of it,” Shepard said quickly. She knew they had a lot of people to recruit and not a lot of time to do it, but it seemed unlikely that the doctor would be willing to help her without taking care of the plague victims first. She admired his resolve.

“Oh, and if you see a male human captive. Daniel. One of my assistants. I told him not to venture out. Didn’t listen. Good assistant. Foolish boy. Please find him.”

“We’ll do our best,” Shepard replied kindly. She nodded to Miranda and Jacob as the doctor moved away from them and got back to work at his console.

“Commander,” Miranda said calmly. “Is it really advisable to—"

Shepard turned to her with a sickly sweet smile. “It is. Let’s help these people so that we can move on, shall we?”

“Aye, aye,” Jacob replied, smirking. Miranda merely nodded, but Shepard thought there was a little less chill in the Cerberus operative’s striking blue eyes as the three of them set off into the slums, weapons at the ready.

 

* * *

 

Shepard panted hard, her back pressed firmly against the wall, sweat pouring down her forehead and obscuring her vision. The fighting had been hard going, and it wasn’t over yet. Another vorcha came lurching at them, hissing in that peculiar pitch, and she poked her head around the corner out of cover, sighted her pistol at the creature’s head, and fired.

It was a well-placed shot. One bullet was all it took and the vorcha’s unsightly head exploded outwards in a fountain of blackish gore. Shepard had always been a good shot, but ever since her rebuild she noticed her reflexes were quicker, her aim steadier, truer. She hoped her stamina would eventually match her other new abilities once she got back into shape. For now, her body hadn’t done a good day’s work in years, and she felt it. Jacob and Miranda seemed unbothered as they reloaded their weapons and looked to her for instructions, not nearly so out of breath as she was. But their efforts when rewarded when she saw that they had apparently rid the entire slums of vorcha thugs. All was quiet, for a moment.

Suddenly, another vorcha came sprinting through the warehouse and threw himself in front of the console they had been fighting their way to. It housed the controls for the air system than ran through the slums, the system that Shepard needed to spread the plague cure through the air ducts.

“You don’t come here!” he shrieked at them, gesturing at the controls behind him. Two other vorcha, armed with rocket launchers, hurried over to either side of their inarticulate leader. “We shut down machines,” he went on. “Break fans. Everyone choke and die. Then, Collectors make us strong.”

So Mordin was right after all. The vorcha were behind the plague’s outbreak, but clearly hadn’t created it. “What do the Collectors want?” Shepard asked. She knew there was no reasoning with them, but perhaps they would let some useful information slip before she, Miranda, and Jacob ended them.

“Collectors want plague! But you work for doctor. Want to turn on machines, put cure in air. But we kill you first. Agh!”

Shepard sighed and signaled to Miranda and Jacob to get into position. Holstering her pistol, she traded it for her favorite weapon: a modified geth shotgun. Her biotics tingled with adrenaline as she took aim and held her breath for the shot.

 

* * *

 

The hum of the newly-functioning air systems was soothing, and the formerly stagnant and smelly air that had permeated the slums was fresher and more breathable. Shepard felt reinvigorated as they neared the entrance of Mordin’s clinic, but Jacob wasn’t doing as well. He had been taking cover near the rocket explosion and his left leg was badly burned. Miranda had slapped on some medi-gel and Jacob didn’t complain, but Shepard could see the pain hiding behind his ordinarily warm brown eyes.

On the upside, the explosion that had injured Jacob had also knocked down the wall of a room the Vorcha had been holding Daniel in, a hostage to sell to batarian mercs. As soon as they had taken down the vorcha and switched the air systems on with the canister of antidote inside, the terrified young man had emerged from the rubble. He was lucky they’d found him when they did.

“Th-thank you,” he piped up from behind them as the group made their way back toward the clinic. His eyes kept darting around them nervously and he wrung his hands while they walked. _Yes_ , Shepard thought, _this one belongs in a lab, not a battlefield_.

Mordin was delighted to be reunited with his assistant. “Daniel!” he exclaimed at their arrival, patting the young man on the back. “Thank you, Shepard,” he said, turning his large, round eyes to her. “You’ve saved many today. Plague nearly wiped out entire slum. Would have done without your help.”

“Yes,” Shepard agreed. “I’m glad I could help. You should know that your suspicions were correct. The vorcha were working for the Collectors. But I still don’t know why. Are you ready to help us stop them?”

“Yes. Daniel will be taking over the clinic. Good kid. I just need to finish up some things here. Will meet you back on your ship.”

Shepard nodded before signaling Joker. “Send over the shuttle. We’re done here for the moment,” Shepard said over the comms.”

“Roger that, Commander,” Joker replied.

Shepard wrapped her arm around a protesting Jacob and helped him limp along as the trio headed to the drop zone. “Dr. Chakwas will have you fixed up in no time,” she said encouragingly.

“Not quickly enough,” Jacob ground out. “You have another dossier to look into here. Archangel. I wanted to be there.”

“I need you in fighting form for our next destination. Besides, we’ve already scouted this station. I’m not worried. We have a new squad member who I think will be pretty comfortable working here.”

“Shepard’s right,” Miranda said soothingly, laying her hand on Jacob’s shoulder. Shepard was surprised at Miranda’s kindness. She had half expected her to protest at the notion of taking Mordin out in the field before he had crafted a solution to the Collector’s seeker swarms. Instead, she was being supportive and rational. It seemed her team was coming together well after all.

 

* * *

 

Back on the ship, Shepard read over the dossier for Archangel, the notorious assassin who had been wreaking havoc on the Omega underworld. He was described as a precise and lethal sniper. Scores of mercs had so far been unsuccessful at taking him down, and had apparently banded together to try and take him out in a coordinated effort. According to Aria, the warring merc groups, Eclipse, the Blue Suns, and Blood Pack, _never_ worked together. Their operation was unprecedented and spoke to the threat Archangel posed and power that he really possessed. Shepard had to hand it to the Illusive Man, he had an interesting eye for people.

_Probably because his eyes are cybernetic_ , she thought darkly, switching off her datapad and getting suited up for the mission.

Jacob was still on rest per Dr. Chakwas’ orders, so Shepard would be taking Miranda and Mordin along for support. She headed to the shuttle bay to find her two companions waiting for her. Mordin was chattering rapidly at Miranda about Cerberus funding and the impressive capabilities of the Normandy. She was looking at him politely but when Shepard entered, Miranda’s sharp eyes honed in on her and Shepard had to stifle a laugh as Miranda’s cool gaze seemed to scream for help across the shuttle bay.

“You guys ready?” she asked, interrupting Mordin as he asked Miranda who had designed the technical lab’s weapon upgrade station.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Miranda blurted out, turning on her very high heels and stalking toward the shuttle.

“Ms. Lawson seems tense, Commander. Unsure if she is fit for combat in current state,” Mordin observed. But Shepard could see the corners of his mouth curling ever-so-slightly. So he had a sense of humor after all.

“Careful doctor, she’s a pretty dangerous biotic you know,” Shepard warned, grinning.

Back on Omega, things were much as they had left them. It had been three days since Shepard had restored clean air to the slums and disseminated the cure to the infected inhabitants. As they debarked from the shuttle, EDI chimed in on the comms telling them that according to reports, Daniel was holding down the clinic well and that most of Mordin’s human guard detail had stayed behind, happy to have a competent doctor in their neighborhood.

“Excellent! I knew he would do well,” Mordin responded brightly.

“Glad to hear it,” Shepard agreed. “Any leads in your data to help us find Archangel?”

“Aria T’Loak mentioned the mercenary alliance poised to assault Archangel’s base of operations. According to my data, one of the mercenary recruiters is looking for freelancers to head the assault. He is working out of Ms. T’Loak’s nightclub, Afterlife.”

“Thank you, EDI,” Shepard replied into the comms. “Let’s head that way.”

Miranda nodded her assent and took point as they headed past the long line of club-goers waiting to get into Aria’s exclusive den.

The turian bouncer recognized them from the last time and merely grunted in greeting as Shepard stepped up to the entrance, loose strands of her hair blown back slightly by the swish of the automatic doors rushing open.

Inside the club, they walked by the stairs leading up to Aria’s VIP perch and toward a suspect-looking batarian who was covered in cheap armor.

“You the merc recruiter?” Shepard inquired.

“Back there,” he responded gruffly, pointing over his shoulder into a side room.

They proceeded into the dimly-lit space to find a human recruiter assigning orders and jotting down information, occasionally handing out weapons from a table behind him to those who applied unarmed.

When it was their turn in line, a light of recognition broke across the man’s face. “You three looking to help out the mercs? Why?” He crossed his arms over his chest and assessed them with a concerned frown.

“We want to help, so long as the mercs are taking out Archangel,” Shepard replied, matching his stance and standing up straighter.

“Hm. Okay. Sorry, you don’t exactly blend in with the others who have applied. I’ve heard about you. You had a meeting with Aria herself. We just wanna be sure of your intentions.”

Shepard made no reply, deciding the best way to handle the man was to match his tough manner.

“Well,” he began, looking them up and down and then looking back at his datapad. “You’re already set on equipment. Better than anything we could offer you. You get five hundred credits each upon completion of the job. One of you cannot collect the other’s fee if someone dies. Understood?”

“What’s the plan?” Shepard asked simply.

“I can’t speak to that. If you accept your orders, you’ll meet up with Tarak for specifics.” The man was irritable, impatient, looking over Shepard’s shoulder to the growing line of interested recruits behind her.

“Who is Tarak?”

“You must be new here. Tarak is the leader of the Blue Suns. He’s a batarian. You can find him out near the building where Archangel has set up shop in a warehouse.” He gestured to a map that he’d pulled up on his datapad.

“Alright. Thanks,” Shepard said, turning and leading the others back outside.

“Five hundred credits for what is probably a suicide mission,” she observed as they walked. The people here must be really desperate.”

“Only as desperate as we are,” Miranda returned. “And we’re not even doing it for the money.”

“True,” Mordin agreed. “But some rewards are greater. Archangel may be a valuable asset to our cause. Very feared here, but also respected. A vigilante. He’s an assassin, killer, yes. But only the criminals organizations need fear him. He could use our help.”

Up ahead Shepard saw a batarian in blue armor with a white sun on the chest plate. He was waiting outside a garage-style structure on the street corner, and walked up to greet him.

“Finally they send me someone who looks like they can actually fight,” he said appreciatively. “You here for the assault on Archangel?”

“Yes. Is there a plan?” Shepard was hoping for answers soon. Their strategy to turn on the mercs and save Archangel would go much more smoothly if she was briefed on the mercs’ plan of attack. But with their status as freelancers, she doubted she would be trusted with many details or put in a position that allowed for much tactical maneuvering.

“There’s a plan, but I’m not sure you’ll like it. Archangel is unlike anything we’ve ever come up against, and he’s been tearing through the hired guns. You three look like you can handle yourselves, though. I’ll take you over to Tarak. He can tell you more.”

Inside the garage, Shepard saw a small guard post of more batarians in Blue Suns colors standing around a large and formidable gunship. A decorated batarian warrior paced around it thoughtfully, inspecting the work of another who was making repairs and smoking a cigarette.

“Who’s this?” the imposing warrior asked as they approached. The batarian who had greeted them outside answered first.

“These are our newest batch of hired guns recruited at Afterlife. They are going to help in the push against Archangel. You want to brief them, Tarak?”

“No,” Tarak responded after a pause. He eyed Shepard curiously before turning away and hurrying off toward an adjoining hallway. “Have Sgt. Cathka do it. I need to prepare,” he called.

The mechanic working on the gunship stood up straight before walking over to Shepard. He blew a cloud of smoke in her face before speaking.

Shepard wasn’t sure if it was some sort of test to gauge her reaction, but she didn’t cough, blink, or flinch, instead staring back at the batarian sergeant with disgust. This brand of rudeness and posturing was something you only saw among the ranks of lawless mercs.

“I’m Cathka. Tarak’s second-in-command.”

“You seem to be his mechanic,” Mordin retorted. Shepard resisted an amused smile as she shot Mordin a warning look before turning back to Cathka. He merely shook his head at them.

“He values me because I can fix this thing. Archangel did a number on it the last time we tried to get him in the building he’s holed up in. Besides, I’d prefer being here to dying out there trying to get to Archangel.”

“How is Tarak planning to attack him?” Shepard asked. “In that gunship?”

“Nah, it’s not ready yet. You and the other hired guns are the centerpiece of the plan. Archangel had a group of other mercs with him, but we took them all out. He’s all that’s left, but he has a good position. He’s up on a high blood of a building that you have to cross a bridge to access. He’s been tearing through our forces the second they set foot on that bridge, exposed.

“You and the other hired guns will run in on the bridge, try to stay alive, and while you’re distracting Archangel, our special forces and the leaders of Eclipse and Blood Pack will run in and get him.”

“So let me get this straight,” Shepard began hotly. “All of the freelancers are just a distraction? Just fodder? This _is_ a suicide mission.”

“Hey!” Cathka spat, stepping closer to her. “You’re just a freelance merc. You knew what you signed up for. Do you wanna get paid or not? Besides, you look like you can take care of yourself. So do it.”

Shepard smiled and stepped back away from Cathka and his foul-smelling cigarette. She’d take care of herself alright. And she’d take care of his smug, murderous men, too.

“Will you be joining the assault in that thing if you get it up and running again?” she gestured to the gunship. All told, it didn’t look that bad. Surely the repairs were nearly complete, and facing it in battle was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

“Of course not,” Cathka replied, walking over to the gunship and laying a hand on the cockpit. “Only Tarak gets to pilot the ship.”

“I see,” Shepard replied. “Where do we rendezvous with the others?”

“That way,” Cathka pointed to the hall Tarak had gone down. “You need to look for Jaroth or Garm if Tarak isn’t around. They’re the Eclipse and Blood Pack leaders. They can tell you where to go.”

Cathka went back to work on the ship, kneeling down to look at something on the underside. It was when he ducked down that Shepard noticed a severed cord with apparently live wires that had been laid carelessly on the table next to Cathka’s tools. It would be so simple. She could incapacitate him in one motion; he’d never know what happened. Then, the gunship wouldn’t be repaired during the assault no matter what. But looking down at the defenseless man, Shepard felt surprised at herself for the thought even crossing her mind. Shaking her head slightly, she turned toward the hallway Cathka had indicated.

“Move out.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve fought him before. He isn’t someone to underestimate, but he’s just flesh and blood like anyone else. He’s no fucking angel. He’s disrupted our work for the last time, so get in there and show him that no vigilante can stand up to Blood Pack!”

Garm, the imposing krogan warlord who led Blood Pack, was pacing back in forth in front of the mercs and trying to hype up his men. He was covered in deep red and black armor adorned with a white skull symbol, and he was not someone Shepard looked forward to fighting soon.

Nearby was Jaroth, the decidedly less frightening salarian leader of Eclipse. But Shepard had dealt with Eclipse before and she knew not to underestimate the enthusiastic fighters. Jaroth was yelling about how Archangel had interrupted Eclipse cash flow and had to be stopped.

Tarak was nowhere in sight. A bad sign. If he was preparing to board the gunship, it would throw a major wrench in their plans.

But Shepard didn’t have time to worry about it. They were mustered near the bridge, and with a yell Garm motioned his troops forward and a slew of freelance mercs and low-level Blue Sun, Blood Pack, and Eclipse soldiers ran out of cover and onto the bridge.

Almost immediately she heard the telltale blast of rifle fire. Intermittent “booms” so deafening she felt the ground beneath her vibrate. This didn’t bode well. What if Archangel shot one of them before she was able to show her allegiance by turning on the mercs?

In any case, it was too late to second guess the plan now.

 

* * *

 

Garrus was tired. Possibly the most tired he'd ever been in his long and extraordinarily eventful life. He had been holding off the merc forces for two days straight, and he was running out of energy. And ammo, which was possibly the more pressing issue, because it didnt really matter how tired he got. Garrus was still the best damned sniper in the verse, as far as he could tell, but even the best sniper couldn’t kill without ammo.

  
His eyes were swollen, twitching, and dry. His arms were aching distractingly from holding his rife up for so long. Worse, he was thirsty. When your body is running on the ardenaline that comes with being hunted, it tends to ignore baser urges like hunger, thirst, and a desire for rest, because survival kicks in, and escaping the threat is prioritized above sustenance for immediate survival. 

  
But he had been fighting the threat for forty-eight hours and he could not ignore the hunger pangs or the insistent thirst that parched him anymore.   
He took a shaky breath, aimed, and fired yet again, killing a krogan Blood Pack member with a glorious headshot. How many had he killed now? It hardly seemed to matter. They'd taken out his squad, and he was repaying them in kind. 

  
Still, the scene of the carnage was a little unsettling. The bridge was so littered with bodies and steeped in multicolored alien gore that there was hardly room for the newest wave of disposable guns-for-hire to make their way along without climbing over bodies.

   
_No time for remorse_ , he reminded himself. His life mattered more. Had to avenge his men, discover who sold them out. And make them pay. 

  
The krogan killshot had emptied his rifle and he loaded another magazine, ducking away from the window as he did so. Only a handful of magazines remained. He needed a plan or he was going to die here. He was going to be overwhelmed and die in spite of his marathon battle to hold them off. 

  
When the rifle was loaded he readied it again, his arms screaming their protest as he lifted the gun and peered through the scope for a target. As his eyes swept over the litter of wounded and dead on the bridge, he finally found a small group emerging from behind the cover of a barrier the mercs had erected at the start of the bridge. 

  
As Garrus squinted through the scope on his trusty Mantis rifle, he honed in on the point position fighter of the group, a well-armed vanguard in flashy armor. He quickly realized that it was a hired gun. The tailored, inky black armor was an immediate giveaway as it bore no clan heraldry. But unlike the other sellsword mercs he’d seen, this one was an able-looking human _woman_. That wasn’t something he saw every day.

But he still didn’t know it was her. He might even have shot her, had it not been for his inexplicable decision to zoom in. Something about her movement was familiar to him, graceful but aggressive. Foolishly fearless. It intrigued him and reminded him of the only human he’d ever really gotten to know well. And as he’d zoomed closer with the scope, it was her hair that gave her away.

She wasn’t wearing a helmet—a stupid choice in his opinion, not that a helmet would do much against a shot from his Mantis. Instead, she had opted for a visor that went around the back of her head and displayed a small, glowing blue readout in front of her right eye, much like the one he usually wore. The visor did nothing to hide her pile of shiny black hair that was pinned messily atop her head. Perhaps that was why she’d chosen to forego the helmet. The station provided reasonably clean air for humans, and getting all that hair under a helmet must have been a nightmare. Not that Garrus knew what it was like to have hair, of course. But it was something that Shepard had constantly griped about when she’d had to wear her breather back when they’d gone out on assignment together.

Was it possible that there were two small but powerful female vangaurds carrying geth shotguns with an unmistakable swagger, topped off with sleek, black hair? Garrus doubted it. But there had to be, because she was gone. Shepard was dead. He’d come halfway across a galaxy to chase her memory away and she still haunted him, but that didn’t make her any less dead.

Just in case, he zoomed in still further and caught the “N7” stitched onto her breastplate, saw the olive skin of her face, now marred by strange scars he hadn’t seen before. But it was her small nose, her full lips, set in a hard line of concentration as she scanned the battlefield. And then there could be no doubt. Her clear, unusually vivid green eyes were the same as ever, and she lifted them then and locked them onto him.

Unlike Shepard, Garrus had the sense to wear a helmet. She wouldn’t recognize him, even with a sniper scope, which she didn’t carry anyway. But to his delight, she looked up at him, noticed his scrutiny, _smiled,_ and then fell back a few steps, letting some of the other mercs pass.

She then signaled to two of them that stood to either side of her, a salarian and another human female in a truly ludicrous, high-heeled fighting outfit, and proceeded to fire on the other mercs!

He was astounded. How could this be? He’d seen the Normandy explode. He’d gone to Shepard’s funeral and sat in grief-stricken silence as Alenko delivered the best damned eulogy he’d ever heard. Yet somehow, in spite of it all, there she was—saving him.

Before he had time to process this revelation, a flood of mercs began scurrying out of cover, realizing something was amiss. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered that Shepard and her team weren’t on their side.

With a last glance at his old friend, Garrus turned his attention to the enemy and fired at will, taking out the wave of mercs before they could effectively flank Shepard. As always, she was out risking her ass for some fool. This time, the fool was him. And he’d be damned if he let her fall again for his sake.

 

* * *

 

With a grunt of exertion, Shepard launched into a powerful biotic charge, knocking down the last merc standing between her and the stairwell. The krogan Blood Pack member crumpled to the ground with a thud. Mordin stepped up alongside her and planted a pistol shot into the krogan’s helmet for good measure.

“Alright,” Shepard said, gesturing Miranda over as they stood at the base of the stairs leading up to Archangel’s floor. “He didn’t kill or seriously injure any of us so the chances are good that he realizes we’re here to help. But we don’t really know much about this guy, so be on your toes and let me do the talking. Agreed?”

“Affirmative,” Mordin replied quickly. Miranda nodded.

As they ascended the stairs Shepard felt a peculiar mix of excitement and dread. She was eager to meet the infamous vigilante but also still a bit worried for their safety. She had no idea how, given the chance, she was going to convince a rogue assassin to join Cerberus and face certain death to save the galaxy, especially considering that he was a turian. Aliens had thus far not responded well to her Cerberus affiliation.

As they came to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner, Archangel was there waiting for them, his gun lowered to his side. He was a tall turian in well-made blue armor and a helmet with a mirrored glass visor.

“Hello, I’m—”

“Shepard,” a strangely familiar, dual-timbered voice finished for her. The turian dropped his gun to the floor with a clatter and reached up, removing the helmet.

Shepard’s breath hitched and she felt a lump rise to her throat at the sight of her friend. After all that she’d been through, Garrus’ friendly face was the most welcome sight she could think of.

“Garrus!” she exclaimed, forgetting herself and the watchful eyes of Miranda as she bounded into his arms.

Hugging a turian wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she didn’t care. With everything that had happened since the destruction of the Normandy SR1, she had abandoned all hope of picking up the pieces of her old life. But Garrus was here, in the flesh, hugging her back hesitantly, his chuckle of amusement at her reaction shaking them both.

“It’s good to see you,” her murmured softly against the top of her head. “I thought you were gone, but I gotta say, you look pretty good for a dead girl, Shepard.”

She stepped back at long last, looking him over. He hadn’t changed much in two years. Same mischievous blue eyes and confident stance. But his roguish grin had lost some of its luster. He looked tired and defeated.

“What are you doing all the way out here, Garrus?” Shepard asked.

“I came to Omega when I got fed up with the bureaucratic shit on the Citadel. I thought I could actually do some good here. There’s no shortage of criminals to take out.”

“Well, you managed to piss off every merc group on the station,” Shepard observed, shaking her head at him affectionately.

“I had to work at it,” Garrus replied. “I’m still surprised they actually teamed up to take me down.”

“Yeah, they’ve all got a chip on their shoulders about ‘Archangel,’” she teased, raising an eyebrow at him questioningly.

Garrus laughed. “Well, that’s just a name they’ve given me. Personally, I prefer ‘The Alpha of Omega.’” He grinned proudly at them.

Shepard snorted. “You give yourself that one, Garrus?”

“No,” he said, but she caught his wink just the same. _Good old Garrus_. Shepard hadn’t smiled so much since she’d been brought back.

She decided it would be prudent to wait until later when they had gotten to safety to explain to Garrus why she was on Omega and looking for him in the first place. “Alright,” she turned to Miranda and Mordin. “We need to figure a way out of here.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Garrus said seriously. “That bridge has been helpful, funnels all of those witless idiots into scope. But it works both ways. We’d have to cross it, exposed, to get out of here.”

“So, what?” Miranda asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We just wait here for them to come and get us?”

“It’s not so bad,” Garrus reassured her. “This place has kept me safe for days, and with the three of you, we’ll have an even better shot.”

“How did you even wind up in this situation?” Shepard knew it wasn’t the ideal time, but she was so curious. Garrus was smart, a brilliant strategist and deadly sniper. She didn’t think it was like him to box himself into a corner like this.

“I let my emotions get in the way,” he said, a hint of irritation boiling to the surface of his voice. “I tell you what, we get out of here and I’ll be happy to tell you the whole damned story. Deal?”

“Alright, what do you suggest?”

“Let them send a couple more waves and take them out from up here. Wait for a break in their defenses and then take our chances crossing the bridge. Whaddya say?”

“Piece of cake,” Shepard answered, offering Garrus a confident smile. Working as a team, the two of them had faced worse odds. She knew they could get out of this mess together.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t believe it. They’d actually done it. Garrus had started to accept that he was a goner after his first fourteen hours stranded in the perch, but he kept going out of sheer instinct and desire to take as many of the damned mercs down with him as he could.

When Shepard had shown up, he felt a little more hope, but still wasn’t sure that the four of them could take on the combined forces of the three biggest and best-funded merc groups on all of Omega.

Yet here they stood, and almost the entirety of the merc forces had been wiped out. At his feet, that son-of-a-bitch Garm lied dead. Apparently he hadn’t learned his lesson after their first encounter. Shepard had taken out Jaroth, too. Only Tarak remained unaccounted for.

But with so many Blue Suns dead and virtually no one to defend him, Garrus figured that Tarak might have simply given up, not wanting to risk his own skin in a losing battle.

He turned to Shepard who stood at his side, looking down at the slaughter below. She and that leggy brunette friend of hers had put on quite a show at close range while he and the salarian had taken down mercs from above. Now they observed the rewards of their labor and prepared to head out and make for the Normandy’s shuttle out near Afterlife.

“We did it,” he said to her in amazement. I can’t believe it, but we did it. They barely touched me. If you hadn’t come Shepard, I—”

The glass of the panoramic windows looking out onto the city behind them shattered suddenly in a cacophonous crash. Shepard instinctively grabbed Garrus by the arm and started looking wildly for cover, but he knew it was too late for that.

Shoving her to the ground, he made to hit the deck himself, blocking her from harm’s way, but before he went down he heard the thunderous shots of an aerial missile launcher and the right side of his body exploded in unimaginable pain as a missile exploded against him. _Tarak in that fucking airship_.

Through the blinding, searing pain he could faintly hear the shrill pitch in Shepard’s voice as she screamed his name. He was vaguely aware that he needed to move. Focusing his eyes, Garrus saw Shepard leap out of cover, taking an enormous grenade launcher from her back and firing at Tarak.

He dragged himself feebly, trying to get behind the cover of a column long enough to take stock of his injuries and see what he could do to assist Shepard, but before he had moved more than a foot, he heard again the thump of the airship’s gun firing and felt the shock of the bullets making contact with his back as he attempted to crawl away on his belly.

But he’d been torn apart by gunfire and crawling seemed a ridiculous impossibility nowy. No, breathing was the real task. As he struggled to suck in a breath, even the small act of keeping his eyes open became too much, and it all went dark and silent.

 

* * *

 

It was snowing on Elysium. Kaidan had taken a shuttle down from the Grissom Academy station to have dinner with some colleagues planetside, but he hadn’t expected the weather to be so cold and windy. As a Canadian native, he wasn’t really bothered by it, though. If anything, the weather on Elysium reminded him of home, which was fitting; the planet had become a second home of sorts.

He spent most of his time on the station, working with the Ascension Project students, but about once a week he flew down to Elysium to see a vid or have drinks with the other instructors.

Today was a solemn day. Many of the members of staff had friends and families in other outlying human colonies, and more colonies were disappearing. Kaidan was concerned that the Alliance was maintaining silence about the attacks. He hadn’t been able to establish a vid call with Anderson in weeks and the councilor wasn’t returning his messages.

He hoped that some time with the others could assuage some of his worries, or that he could at least get some information. The mystery surrounding the disappearances was the most unnerving thing. How could so many people vanish completely without a trace?

Kaidan entered the crowded bar and removed his jacket, it tossing it over his arm and pushing through the crowd toward a booth in the corner where he and his friends ordinarily sat. The usual group was gathered. Kahlee Sanders, the famed biotic who had settled down as an Ascension Project instructor, smiled warmly at him. She had kind, pale eyes and short cropped blonde hair. As the senior member of staff on the station, everyone looked to Kahlee for guidance. She had been all over the galaxy and Kaidan knew she was a close, personal friend to Councilor Anderson.

When he’d first been assigned to the Ascension Project, Kahlee had taken him under her wing and guided him out of is crippling grief and into his role as a biotics instructor for the young teenagers accepted into Ascension. Kaidan felt indebted to her and to Anderson for having the foresight to place him in the care of such a capable teacher and mentor.

Next to Kahlee was Dr. Jazmin Sanchez. She reddened slightly as Kaidan’s eyes fell on hers. They’d first met just over two years ago on the Citadel. Jazmin had been assigned as the assistant physician for the Grissom Academy, and had been celebrating with her friends at the Dark Star when one of them had recognized Kaidan at the bar. It wasn’t his proudest moment. Apparently, Jazmin had been attempting to introduce herself, having been briefed by Anderson that they would be shipping out to Elysium together, but he’d been too irritated and preoccupied to stick around long enough to hear her say so. Their ensuing trip to Elysium had been tense and silent, but over the years they had become good friends working alongside one another on the station.

But Kaidain knew that Jazmin wanted more than friendship, always finding excuses to talk to him on the way to his bunk after work each night, sitting beside him in the mess at lunch every day. Just now her bronzed skin was closer to crimson under his gaze, and she averted her dark eyes, dropping her head so that her black hair fell in a curtain around her face. Kaidan wasn’t sure when their easy friendship had turned into this uncomfortable tension, but he hoped it would resolve itself soon. His friends had talked him into taking her out a few times. It was nice. After all, Jazmin was a brilliant doctor and undeniably pretty; but he just didn’t know if he could pursue a relationship with her. Even now, two years out from Shepard’s death, the hole she’d left in his heart was still ragged at the edges.

Beside Jazmin, Dr. Jiro Toshiwa seemed to notice her discomfort. The friendly and boisterous young Asian-American man was at ease even in these situations. His calming demeanor was only one of the reasons that he’d been appointed the head physician at the Academy, and he had become one of Kaidan’s best friends.

Jiro patted Jazmin on the knee and then extended his hand to Kaidan. “Good to see you, bud,” he said, gesturing to Jazmin and Kahlee to shove over so that Kaidan could sit.

“Thanks, Jiro,” he replied, sliding into the booth. Jiro grabbed the empty glass in front of Kaidan and filled it with beer from a pitcher in the center of the table.

“Thanks,” Kaidan mumbled when Jiro handed him the glass. The beer was cold and bracing, a welcome luxury after a long day at work.

“How’s it going, guys?” he asked, looking over at the others. He could feel a sense of trepidation in the air that went beyond his recent awkwardness with Jazmin. They were hiding something.

“I’m well, Kaidan. Thank you,” Kahlee replied smoothly. “It’s looking like we are going to get approved for that grant I asked you to petition the Alliance about. We’ll have new combat simulators for our biotics trainees and new implant replacement possibilities for any of our students who were incorrectly outfitted at the inception of their abilities.”

“That’s great,” he said, nodding. Jazmin continued to stare at her lap, and Jiro looked determinedly down into his beer. “Is there something else?”

Kahlee sighed heavily and moved a hand up to her forehead, rubbing distractedly at her right temple. “There’s been some . . . troubling news.”

“Well, lay it on me,” he said impatiently, feeling a heavy dread settle in his stomach even as the words left his lips.

Jiro cleared his throat then and smiled at Kaidan, his even white teeth glinting in an easy expression of nonchalance. But Kaidan knew better. “Do you remember when the news broke about two weeks ago that Freedom’s Progress disappeared?”

“Yes. But that’s nothing new. Like you said, two weeks ago. What happened? Wait, did they find them?” It seemed unlikely that the colonists had been found safe and sound, judging by the others’ strange behavior. Kaidan hoped desperately that they hadn’t discovered all of the colonists dead. Morale was already very low on Elysium, another predominately human settlement. If definitive proof was released that the missing colonists had all been murdered, all-out panic would ensue.

“No, they didn’t find them,” Kahlee answered. “There was a quarian on pilgrimage staying with the colonists. He was injured while there, but he survived the disappearance and was picked up by a quarian rescue team. We are only now learning of this, as he had departed prior to the arrival of the Alliance recon squad.”

“So we have a witness?! A living witness?”

“Yes and no,” Jiro chimed in. “The quarian that survived whatever took place suffered damage to his environment suit that impacted his nervous system. He was very disoriented afterward. His testimony is confused and also a bit hard to believe.”

“What does he claim happened?” Kaidan wished they would stop beating around the bush and tell him what was going on. But it seemed that they were prolonging some big revelation as long as possible.

“The quarian claims that the human colonists were abducted by the Collectors, a rarely seen alien race that supposedly hails from beyond the Omega 4 Relay. They work through intermediaries to carry out various jobs across the galaxy. Their current goal seems to be human abduction. Whether they are working independently or as hired mercenaries is unclear.” Jiro paused and took a long drink from his beer.

“I’ve heard of these Collectors,” Kaidan mused. “But you’re right, this story is farfetched at best. Why would they come after humans? We haven’t found any bodies. How can they manage that scale of abduction, and for what purpose?”

“No one knows. No one knows much about the Collectors at all,” Kahlee replied sadly.

“But this seems like good news. We have something to go on, to actually investigate,” Kaidan said in frustration. They finally had a lead, even if that lead had come from a sick quarian. It sounded like it was worth following up on at the very least. Prior to this news they had no clues whatsoever.

“It _is_ good news,” Jiro said, again trying to feign optimism. But Kaidan wasn’t fooled.

“Please, guys. I’ve had a long day of being hit in the face by teenagers practicing Shockwaves. I’m tired. Just tell me whatever’s really going on here.”

Kahlee sighed heavily. Kaidan was shocked to see tears sparkling in her eyes before she went on. “The sick quarian’s testimony was backed up by his team. One of his associates, Prazza, petitioned the Council to reprimand a human squad that allegedly interfered with their rescue efforts and almost kidnapped the sick quarian for information about the Collectors. He claims that Cerberus operatives were going to take the quarian without his consent until they intervened.”

Kaidan scoffed. “Sounds about right. I get it now. You’re all worried that the other races aren’t going to want to help us with the missing colonies now because, as usual, Cerberus is being about as diplomatic as a drunk krogan.”

“Sort of,” Jiro said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Another quarian from the mission sent a message to the Council imploring them to ignore Prazza’s story, claiming that while Cerberus was present on Freedom’s Progress, that they cooperated with the quarian squad to get their injured comrade off-planet and, with permission, only took his Omni-tool for research. This other quarian is an old associate of yours, Tali’Zorah.”

“I remember Tali,” Kaidan said, smiling warmly at the thought of the bright young girl. “It’s a good thing she was there. I’m surprised to see her defend Cerberus after their conflict with the Migrant Fleet in the past, but I trust her on this.”

“Well,” Kahlee went on, “she wasn’t defending just _any_ Cerberus operatives . . .”

“What do you mean?”

Jazmin looked up finally. Her deep brown eyes locked with Kaidan’s. “It’s her,” she said, her voice sounding oddly frantic and strained. “The Cerberus operatives . . . their squad was led by Shepard.”

Kaidan’s eyes narrowed and he sat back against the cushioned booth, scowling. “Is this some kind of a joke? Do you think this is fucking _funny_?”

“Kaidan—” Kahlee began, quietly.

“NO,” he interjected. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Why would you say something like this?” he demanded, turning back to Jazmin angrily. “You know how hard it was for me to get past what happened to her. You know how I—how I _felt_ about her.”

“We do know,” Jiro said calmly, laying a hand on Kaidan’s shoulder. “That’s why we wouldn’t tell you this unless we were sure.”

Kaidan shrugged away from Jiro’s touch and stood up, glaring down at them all. “Sure? How in the hell can you be sure that a dead woman was leading a squad—a _Cerberus_ squad at that—on an abandoned colony right after a Collector attack. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“It’s Tali’s testimony, you said yourself that you trust her. Additionally, you might remember that I spent some time on Omega years ago. I still have contacts there. She was seen yesterday, and has apparently been there for several days. She cured a plague decimating the turians, batarians, and vorcha in the slums. She also led an assault on the mercenary clans that were planning a coup on Aria T’Loak and smuggled an assassin going by the alias ‘Archangel’ off base onto a Cerberus vessel. She’s been . . . busy, and we don’t know why. We thought you should be told.”

Kaidan was at a loss. None of this made sense. Curing epidemics and saving people sounded like Shepard alright. And it was true that he trusted Tali. But this had to be some kind of mistake. Shepard was gone. It had taken him almost two years to come to terms with that reality, but he had. He knew that as much as he had wished it was all a nightmare, the murder of the woman he loved was all too real.

And if somehow, _somehow_ , Shepard had managed to survive, she would have contacted him. He had faith in that. She had never proclaimed love for him or anything so dramatic, but the connection they’d shared was real, and Shepard would know that Kaidan would be suffering in her absence. If Shepard had lived, she would have seen the news vids across the galaxy mourning her supposed death. She would have known that there was a huge misunderstanding about the destruction of the Normandy and would have set out to rectify it. She would have found Kaidan and the others, and together they would have gone out on assignment again, found another ship, another job, another reason to risk their asses together.

Most of all, if Shepard had lived, she would never have allied herself with a pro-human, anti-alien terrorist group like Cerberus. It was against everything she fought for, everything she wanted the Alliance and the Council to represent. None of this made any since. As much as he wished she was alive, it simply couldn’t be true. Besides, none of them had any proof.

“I suppose there isn’t any way you could prove any of this ridiculous hearsay as actual fact?” Kaidan asked.

Kahlee smiled sadly at him. He’d seen that look. Seen it a thousand times since Shepard’s passing. It was pity. Wordlessly, Kahlee lifted her arm and tapped at the buttons on her Omni-tool, pulling up a vid and tilting it toward Kaidan before playing it.

It was a short news vid narrated by a female reporter. “In a bizarre turn of events, the supposedly deceased Commander Shepard of Alliance fame was spotted here on Omega today, fleeing with an injured turian mercenary known as ‘Archangel,’ the salarian Dr. Mordin Solus, and an unknown female Cerberus operative.” The reporter’s voice was played with a short clip of video footage that continued on a loop. In the clip, a woman who Kaidan suspected with the “unidentified Cerberus operative,” walked briskly ahead of a salarian who supported a bloodied turian, holding him up by the left arm. The turian himself was gravely injured and splattered with shiny, blue blood, but Kaidan recognized his facial markings and the rifle strapped to his back all the same. It was _Garrus_. Supporting Garrus’ right side was a small woman with thick black hair and lovely green eyes. Her armor was damaged and her shoulder almost completely exposed, but Kaidan could make out the Cerberus logo on her chestplate, across from an _N7_ logo that adorned the other side. She appeared to be injured and her face was badly scarred, but there could be no mistaking her.

How many nights had he lied awake haunted by the image of her face? It was seared into his memory like a brand. There was no denying that the woman in the news vid was in fact Shepard. The reporter continued her narration as the image switched to a view of an enormous nightclub. “Aria T’Loak, owner of the Afterlife nightclub, could not be reached for comment. But a source close to the asari claims that the Cerberus officer you’ve just seen in this vid was indeed on Omega, identified herself as Shepard, and worked to assist Aria with conflicts throughout Omega over the last week.”

For the briefest moment, Kaidan felt the sweetest, most incandescent joy of his entire life. She was _alive_. For years he had wished for nothing so desperately as this—her life, breath in her lungs, a beat in her heart. Anything just to know she was out there somewhere. Now, his wish had come true and it appeared that Shepard wasn’t dead after all. His bliss was so heady that he felt lightheaded, faint. For one mad instant he considered running out of the club and catching the first flight he could get to Omega. He would investigate where she’d gone, find her, and hold her. _Oh, God, to hold her again . . ._

But slowly, reality set in and Kaidan faced the ugly truth. Shepard was alive, and she hadn’t contacted him. Shepard had _never_ been dead. Because when people died, that was the end. There was no coming back from death. Technology had leapt forward when the alien races had all come together in cooperation throughout the galaxy, but only so far. Resurrection was still impossible. So for two years, the woman he loved, the woman he thought might love him too, had allowed him to suffer alone, in vain. Had allowed him and everyone else she knew to believe that she was dead. She had deceived them all and let them mourn her while she double-crossed them and worked with Cerberus, with terrorists.

Kaidan almost wished for his prior ignorance. The despair of losing her was worse than the knowledge of her duplicity, but only by so much. The dejection of knowing that she’d dropped him so callously and deceived him so completely was surprisingly sharp. The extreme fluctuation in his emotional responses to what he’d just been told was jarring. He felt physically ill and had to grip the table for support. He was acutely aware of the others’ eyes on him, but he was far past caring about that now.

“Kaidan,” Kahlee said softly, her tone steeped in concern. “Just breathe. Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, Kaidan straightened up, releasing his grip on the table. “I have to go,” he said simply.

“Kaidan, wait,” Jazmin said, standing. But Kaidan ignored her; walking briskly away from them, he shoved unceremoniously through the densely-packed bar and out into the snowy night. He realized then that he’d forgotten his coat in the booth, but he left it behind, making for the shuttle. He had packing to do, leaves forms to fill out.

After a moment’s consideration he realized that he needed to give Shepard the benefit of the doubt. Maybe things weren’t what they seemed. This was _Shepard_. The love of his life; the strongest, smartest, most compassionate woman he’d ever known. These rumors simply couldn’t be true. He needed to go to the Citadel and see Anderson in person. The older man’s silence over the last couple of weeks suddenly made sense. Kaidan realized that Andersen had heard the same rumors, and was trying to work them out before talking to Kaidan. But he wouldn’t be stonewalled. He was going to confront the councilor in person and get to the bottom of what was going on with Shepard. He owed her that much.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
